


Of Innocence & Empathy

by thefrogg



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mom!Hotch, Multi, References to Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 74
Words: 54,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefrogg/pseuds/thefrogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Previously posted to my livejournal.</p><p>This is not a single contiguous story.  Each chapter was originally written as a self-contained vignette.  Some of them belong together in mini-series; some are stand alone.  They are snapshots before the series starts, between episodes, sometimes missing scenes.  The entire series goes AU after Season 2 - Gideon never leaves, Haley doesn't turn into a shrew, etc.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Missing from the World

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted to my livejournal.
> 
> This is not a single contiguous story. Each chapter was originally written as a self-contained vignette. Some of them belong together in mini-series; some are stand alone. They are snapshots before the series starts, between episodes, sometimes missing scenes. The entire series goes AU after Season 2 - Gideon never leaves, Haley doesn't turn into a shrew, etc.

The door was open; Morgan knocked on the jamb before leaning in. "JJ called a meet, we got a case."

Hotch barely glanced up at him, the crease between his eyebrows clearing briefly before reappearing as he went back to shifting piled paper around on his desk. "I heard, I'll be there in a minute."

Morgan opened his mouth, shut it, then stepped fully into the office. "Lose something?"

"My pen, it's here somewhere, it has to be." Hotch pulled out the top drawer, rifling through it briefly before shutting it again and causing further disarray. "I never take it out of this office--"

"Hey, hey, it's just a pen, Hotch, just--"

"No, it's not," Hotch cut him off, talking over him. "It's the pen Haley gave me--" and he was muttering under his breath, _"had it this morning"_ and _"too many meetings, couldn't have just left it somewhere."_

"The one she gave you for your anniversary." Morgan knew about that pen; months ago, he'd picked it up to sign some documents one day only to have it snatched - possessively, proprietarily - out of his hand before ink met paper. The matte finish of high-quality steel had flashed with a fancy engraving, "Aaron & Haley Hotchner" when Hotch had rolled it for display, a mute apology.

"Yes, that one. The one I don't take out of this office."

"As much as I hate to say this, it is--" Morgan stopped himself short as Hotch's shoulders slumped in defeat, hands going still and tense, tendons in his wrists prominent.

"Just a pen, yes, I know."

Morgan wanted to vomit. _Just a pen, my ass. Like Reid's messenger bag is just--or Gideon's notebook, or._ He couldn't finish the list, not even for himself.

"I'll be there in a minute."

"Hotch." Morgan waited for eye contact; it took more time than they could spare, but he wasn't going to leave without it. "Let's finish this case, and I'll help you tear this place apart to find it when we get back. Deal?"

Hotch only stared dumbly, something bruised and dark in his eyes, lost and vulnerable. Then it was gone, so fast Morgan wasn't sure he'd even seen it. "That's not necessary."

"Hotch. Man, you know we all have--" But it was too late, Hotch was already turning away, reaching back for the coat neatly folded over the back of his chair and slipping his arms through the sleeves. "All right, all right. Just remember, the offer's on the table."

"Understood."

Morgan barely managed to suppress the wince. This was not going to be a good case.


	2. The Wisdom of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gideon gets a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~4 months before the start of Season 1.

Gideon's cell phone vibrating with a text message wasn't enough to send him into a panic, but it was enough to tense muscles as if he'd wanted to, enough to shift breathing slow and steady to shallow and choppy. 

Enough to catch the attention of a good half dozen of his students, from the eyes he felt drawn to him by the quiet buzzing, a half dozen, possibly more. 

The combat vets clustered to his left in solidarity, Davison from Afghanistan, three more from Iraq, all too familiar with the signs of post-traumatic stress disorder; Sheila, soon-to-be social worker, second row center, already interning at the local VA hospital; next to her, Bethany, a trauma counselor come back to school for her Masters. Their collective notice would inevitably draw the attention of the rest of class. 

Gideon struggled to slow his heartrate, his breathing, and pulled his phone from his pocket, switching it off before setting it on the table in front of him. "Eyes on your exam," he said gruffly. It was bad enough that they knew, knew who he was, why he was here in a classroom - not that he begrudged them his instruction, but this wasn't, wasn't - he didn't belong here. Not yet. _'They haven't put me out to pasture yet,'_ Gideon reminded himself bitterly. 

Bad enough that this was hardly the first, and thus far the mildest, of the triggers he'd had here. Bad enough that he and that handful of students danced between a proper professor-student relationship, and... he didn't know. The vets treated him as one of their own, inviting him out for dinner or drinks with 'the guys', slipped phone numbers and _"If you need to talk"_ in with their papers. It was touching, and heartbreaking, and humiliating, having these men try and reach out, when he could see the same signs in them. Sheila stayed after class, _'just to talk,'_ she said, _'just to learn,'_ and always managed to have a story of unexpected coping mechanisms, unexpected triumphs, things he'd found himself trying despite himself. Bethany just watched, listened, half-managing Sheila on days she sensed Gideon couldn't weather her well-meaning interference; she'd slipped her card to him the first day, with the index cards of contact information, a scrawled _"I know people who can help"_ on the back. 

Bad enough that collectively, they'd probably kept him out of a psych ward the day the school'd had unannounced construction going on out in the quad, a few dozen feet from the classroom; the jackhammer had sounded all too much like the gunfire, the explosion, cement dust coming in through the window catapulting him back into a hell that had taken six lives, six lives he'd been responsible for... 

He viciously cut off that line of thought, suppressing another, a worse reaction. The grading he'd been doing couldn't hold his attention now; he'd learned that early on. Instead, he picked up his phone again, flipping it open, shut, silencing the snap with a cushioning thumb, open again, unable to decide whether or not to read the message. 

Only one person bothered to text him. The only person in his personal circle who, arguably, saw more of life through technology than through living, even though Gideon knew perfectly well that wasn't true. 

Minutes trickled past, a melting waterfall of time as, one by one, his students finished their exams and brought them to the desk with a smile, or a nod, or a guilty lack of eye contact, a look of concern or compassion; Davison tapped his exam paper twice, drawing Gideon's eyes to the invitation to a local bar, 8 pm, Davison mouthing _"You'd be welcome,"_ before giving a small salute and striding out. They both knew he wouldn't go, couldn't... 

The classroom finally emptied, Sheila having been gently herded out by the last of the vets _(Marks,_ his mind whispered), leaving Gideon to his thoughts and the phone still blank-faced in his hand. 

All thumbs, the keypad unlocked, and the screen flashed. 

Three words, too familiar, too painful. 

_He needs you._

Gideon's gut twisted in an agony of guilt. "I know," his voice rasped out unaware, hoarse to his own ears. _'I know Hotch needs me, I don't even want to think about how bad it is there, how bad he is without me, how bad he's going to get...he needs me.'_

His fist tightened enough to blank the screen again, enough to press an imprint of edges, of buttons into his palm. 

_'He needs me whole.'_


	3. Logical Precautions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occurs between **Lessons Learned** and **Sex, Birth, Death**.

"Do you trust her?"

Hotch glanced over the edge of his coffee cup, taking a quick sip before answering. "Who, Emily?"

"Strauss," Garcia said pointedly, the s' hissed in irritation. "Look, I know - we all know - you protect the team in whatever way you can, even if it's taking the heat for things the rest of us do."

Hotch felt the tips of his ears burn. "That's my job."

"No, it's not, and you know it. But that's not my point." The words came a little too fast, despite the confidence of--practice? Her hands kneading the couch cushions didn't help.

"Which is?" Hotch asked, wishing yet again that she were more comfortable talking to him.

"We both know - and if Gideon doesn't, I'll eat my badge - that there's no way Emily should have gotten Elle's spot. There were at least four people with better credentials alone. I know. I looked. And I checked Strauss' schedule for the last couple of months, and she's been meeting with a lot of people that--"

"Wait."

Garcia waved off the interruption. "I wasn't hired because hacking is my _job."_

"I'm not sure I'm going to like where this is going."

Laughter bubbled up, sharp, ugly and resentful. "You're not, any part of it, but I had to talk to you--I know you can't approve what I want to do, but I didn't want you to freak out if--"

"Garcia."

"I want to put cameras in the offices - Strauss' and yours, particularly, but probably Gideon's too. Maybe JJ's. And put taps on the phones."

Hotch blinked at Garcia's bluntness. "That's-"

"Illegal, immoral, and inadmissable in court?"

"I was going to say _'proactive'."_

Garcia snorted, her expression clearly saying _"Suuure."_

"But you're right."

"Strings were pulled to get Emily on the team. Strauss' fingerprints are all over it. And there's not a damn thing I can do to keep any of us out of that fire except try and build a record for her."

"You know this could put both of us--"

"Not us, just me. My idea, my hardware, my software. All I need to do is install it." Garcia shrugged deprecatingly. "It's not like they wouldn't be expecting me to do something like this, anyways."

Hotch was once again struck by how tightly bound together the team was, that Garcia was willing to put both career and freedom on the line for something she wasn't sure would ever happen. "I won't let you--"

"Did you ever think about _why_ you never let any of us take whatever heat Strauss has in mind for us? You don't hesitate to tell any of us when we screw something up."

"Are you sure you didn't take the training when I wasn't looking?"

That earned a laugh, one that lit up Garcia's eyes and got a lopsided grin from Hotch.

"You're right. And as much as I'm going to regret this..."

"It's my job to make sure you don't."

Hotch grunted. "You have one away case to install it. My office only." He glared. "Afterwards, I have a week of in-office time to find it. If I do, you take it out and we never speak of this again."

"And if you don't find it?"

Shutting his eyes against the guilt starting to gnaw at him, Hotch sighed deeply. "If I don't find it..."

~~~

 

Two and a half weeks later, Garcia passed Hotch on her way to her bunker, getting a small nod in silent acknowledgment.


	4. An Illogical World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan helps Reid with a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after 2x11 Sex, Birth, Death.

Knock knock knock. 

"C'mon, Hotch, I know it's damn late," Morgan muttered, resting both hands flat on the door, as if he could will it to open. 

Nothing. Then a possible rustle of cloth. 

Morgan knocked again, insistent, trying to drown out the memory of Reid's pleading. 

_'No, please...hold him!...stay...stay with me...'_

Footsteps. 

"Hotch, I need Reid's key..." 

A momentary pause, then more footsteps. 

The door opened, revealing Hotch in sweatpants and a plain white undershirt, hair askew, gaze as sharp as ever. "Here." He held out a plastic card, no questions asked. "Let me know." His eyes held everything left unsaid. 

Morgan nodded, saluting with the keycard before retreating. 

~~~ 

Reid had twisted himself in the covers, legs trapped under the comforter at the foot of the bed. His fingers clawed the air, tendons showing sharp against thin skin of hand and wrist. 

Not in an attack, but applying pressure. 

At work, Morgan blessed Reid's perfect memory; now, he cursed it, understood all too fully why Gideon tried to keep him away from the worst of the crime scenes. If Reid would hold still for a moment, stop the mindless, terrified thrashing, Morgan knew what he'd see: a horror-stricken mask of self-hatred and grief, frustration and anger. Tears. 

The memory of blood, of a life draining away beneath his hands. 

Morgan couldn't leave him like that, trapped in a memory of what hadn't happened. 

"No, Nathan...stay..." 

"Reid." Morgan reached out, waiting for an opening, one instant when Reid's body stilled enough not to risk injury. 

"...dying, I can't...so much..." 

There! Morgan gripped Reid's shoulders squarely, riding Reid's body backwards as the startled sleeper bolted upright; hands scrabbled at his abdomen, slipped around and gripped tightly before shoving him away. "Reid! It's me, Morgan, talk to me!" 

Reid's eyes were wide, staring at his shaking hands. "So much blood, it wouldn't stop..." 

"Reid..." 

"He died, I couldn't stop it." Reid couldn't seem to stop the words, couldn't tear his eyes from his hands. 

Morgan knew what Reid was seeing, had it confirmed as he started scratching at his wrists. "Reid, talk to me." Gently, firmly, he captured Reid's hands in his own, held them still, squeezing them until Reid winced and looked up in vague recognition. 

"I was *there*, I tried, I t-tried, b-but..." Reid swallowed against the failure, tears spilling down his cheeks, shooting stars against the moonlit sheen of sweat. 

"Reid, Nathan is fine. He's in the hospital getting treatment, you know that. You got there in time, you saved his life." He paused, rubbing Reid's wrists soothingly, the skin beneath his fingers cool and clammy. Shock-chill. And Reid was shivering now in reaction. 

"I should have kn-known, what he was..." 

"Reid," Morgan cut him off before he could continue that train of thought. "You did your best, and it was enough. You got there in time. You saved his life. You got him the help he needs. Now you--" and Morgan let go to poke Reid gently in the chest, "need to take care of yourself so you can keep doing your best." 

Reid swallowed again, wrapping his arms across his chest -- not defensively, but to ward off the cold. "How am I s-supposed to g-get to sleep now?" he asked, his voice small and scared. "I'm s-so c-cold..." 

"A hot shower will take care of that, and help you relax," Morgan said, adding mentally, 'And get all that blood off you.' He slid off the bed, drawing Reid with him. "C'mon, let's go." 

Reluctantly untangling himself, Reid frowned, his forehead creasing. "Wait, y-you're going to...?" 

"Reid, you're half awake and out of it. Do you have any idea how many injuries are caused by people slipping in the tub?" 

"Um, actually, I d-do..." 

Swallowing a bark of laughter, Morgan shook his head. "You're not going to become a statistic, cause I'm not letting you in there by yourself. You need to get to sleep. Will you let me help you?" 

Reid wobbled unsteadily on his feet for a long moment, chewing his lower lip. Then, sighing enormously, he nodded, leaning into the support Morgan so readily offered. 

"That's it, it's just me," Morgan soothed, wrapping Reid in a loose embrace, waiting for Reid to make the first move before letting go and tugging him into the bathroom. 

Reid leaned against the bathroom counter, tugging ineffectually at the drawstring to his sweatpants, watching as Morgan turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. 

"Need help with that?" Morgan asked, nothing but sympathy on his face, in his voice. 'Not going there, not the time or place, for either of us,' Morgan told himself as color blossomed in Reid's cheeks. 

"N-no?" Reid couldn't meet his eyes, but skimmed his sleepwear off just the same, reaching for the shower curtain. 

"Hold on there," Morgan said, reaching out to steady Reid's climb into the tub. Once he was sure Reid was okay, he let go, shed his own sweats, and climbed in. "Turn around," Morgan urged, maneuvering so Reid stood directly in the shower spray, water pounding on his back and shoulders. "Feel good?" 

"Mmhmm." The agreement came out as a rumbling purr, Reid arching his neck and smiling, eyes closed as the water sheeted over his face. 

Morgan chuckled at the look of sybaritic pleasure on Reid's face. "Hang on, it gets better." Lathering a washcloth with the standard hotel soap, he watched Reid sway, half from fatigue and the remnant of his nightmare, half in experimentation as the water ran over his body. 'No accidents,' Morgan reminded himself before taking one of Reid's arms in his left hand, washing him from fingertip to shoulder gently but thoroughly, the narrow whipcord-thin chest, and down the other arm. 

Humming to himself, half aware and pliant, Reid submitted to the tender ministrations, leaning into the rough nap of the washcloth when Morgan tried to wash his neck. 

Smiling, Morgan let Reid scrub his cheek against the rough cloth until he was satisfied, then continued, turning Reid back around so he could wash Reid's back. 

The water was growing tepid before Morgan reached around and shut off the water with a soft, "All clean." A wet splat marked the washcloth's destination on the edge of the tub. 

One hand holding Reid steady, Morgan stepped out of the tub, then turned and helped Reid, letting the younger man lean on him while he wrapped a fluffy white towel around his lanky frame and briskly dried him off. "Pants?" he asked, gesturing to the discarded sweats on the floor. 

"Mmm-mmm." Reid shook his head. "Comfy." 

"Yeah, Reid, I bet. You're almost asleep on your feet." Morgan gave himself a cursory rubdown with the damp towel, throwing it over the curtainrod before nudging Reid back out into the bedroom. 

Goosebumps appeared on Reid's arms and he shivered. Wide-eyed, he turned back to Morgan. 

"C'mon, get in bed." Morgan held the covers back, but when he would have tucked them more securely, he found his wrist caught in Reid's grip. "What is it?" 

Reid looked up at him, eyes pleading. "S-stay?" The word was whispered, nearly silent. 

Morgan blinked.

"I-I don't want to be alone." 

Swallowing at Reid's courage, Morgan nodded. "I'm not going anywhere." He slid beneath the sheets, viciously suppressing a shudder at the flickers of memory. 

Reid rolled over, one arm reaching across the bed. 

Morgan felt Reid's hand settle on his abdomen, covered it with his own. "Sleep, Reid, I'll be here when you wake up." 

"Not," and a huge yawn interrupted Reid's declaration, "not alone." 

"Not going anywhere," Morgan confirmed. 

"Good."


	5. A Gentle World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A _Five things that..._ style series of drabble-ish shorts about how Morgan's relationship with Reid started, beginning with _An Illogical World_ and ending with _Illogical Knowledge._

The first time, it was a screaming nightmare that might as well have awakened the entire team. 

Emily pulled Morgan aside the next day, making sure that Reid was really okay, and letting him know that she'd been about to go get Hotch when she'd heard Morgan's hurried footsteps pass her door. Then, unable to meet Morgan's eyes, she admitted to spending the night in JJ's room, going over the case file until they'd passed out. 

Though Hotch hadn't mentioned anything, Morgan doubted Gideon had managed a good night's rest. The looks of pride and concern he'd gotten from the older man only served to confirm it. 

~~~

 

The second time, a few nights later and in another city, wasn't anywhere near as dramatic, a quiet tap-scratch-tap at his hotel room door. The kind Reid used when he was scared and needed reassurance of a sort that Gideon and Hotch weren't quite qualified to offer. 

Morgan opened the door to find Reid trembling, shining with sweat and clad only in twisted sweatpants, eyes wide and glazed with an odd mixture of sleep and terror. No hesitations, no questions, just a hand clamped on Reid's arm to drag him inside and into a gently efficient shower. Once dried and bundled into bed, he wrapped Reid in strong arms, holding him close and keeping him safe. 

A line had been crossed - this wasn't new. Reid had spent the night in his bed, in his arms, several times before, but without the shower. With sweats they both used as pajamas. And never more than once a month, usually at least three months between. He knew how bad things had to be to send Reid to his room for the silent comfort of someone who didn't pressure or probe. He took those nights seriously, never mentioning them in the light of day, only rarely, in some quiet, secluded place making sure Reid knew, and understood, that he was welcome at any time. 

Staunchly ignoring the salt-scent of tears, the dampness on his shoulder, Morgan sent up a prayer that he was ready for this, that the wounds he carried deep inside were healed enough not to break open and bleed even now. 

~~~

 

The third time wasn't. 

It should have been, but the real horrors of what they'd seen investigating a child kidnapping-turned-child prostitution case hadn't fully set in until they'd gotten home. Not for Reid. 

Morgan knew Hotch and Gideon knew Reid was disturbed by it; they all were. But that didn't excuse the fact that Morgan hadn't been there for Reid when he was needed. 

The circles under Reid's eyes, the haunted, longing glances sent his way screamed in betrayal. 

Lunch was spent in damage control. The effort paid off in the tension that eased from Reid's shoulders, the look of shell-shocked gratitude sent his way from beneath wayward blond hair. 

Morgan wasn't surprised at all when Reid crawled tentatively into his bed at just past one that night. That's what he'd given him a copy of his housekey and the alarm codes for, after all. 

Still, it only counted as the third time. 

~~~

 

The fourth time wasn't because of a case. Not directly. 

Stuck in the field, they'd watched Hotch struggle with his famous compartmentalization, fight to keep up his front of professionalism, when Jack fell ill. Gideon gently, but firmly, took over running the operations when Jack's temperature spiked and the baby had to be hospitalized. 

A shared glance was all it took to let Morgan know he'd have company. 

Morgan was grateful for it. Maybe Reid's presence would keep him from having 'what if?' nightmares. 

~~~

 

The fifth time, it wasn't Reid who needed comfort and support.


	6. Illogical Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid returns the favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post 2x12 Profiler, Profiled.

Tap-tap-tap. 

Reid fidgeted just outside Hotch's hotel room door, dancing from foot to foot and turning his keycard over and over in his hand. The plastic scratched at his palm. 

Tap-tap-tap. 

A small whimper escaped him, an echo of those still resounding in his head: whimpers of a young boy, from a grown man. 

Whimpers of a hellish memory, brought on in the helplessness of sleep. 

"Hotch, please...It's Morgan, I..." Reid choked on the words, tears of sympathy stinging his eyes. He raised his hand to knock again, harder, but stopped himself at the sound of footsteps, soft against the carpet. 

The door opened a moment later. 

Reid fought the urge to snatch the keycard Hotch held and run back down the hall. "I--It's, it's Morgan--" 

"I know." Hotch handed over the key, but when Reid moved to take it, he continued. "Be careful, Reid." 

Glancing back up, Reid saw concern and a need to help in Hotch's eyes. "I--he, he won't--" 

"He might get violent. I'm just saying, as a friend, please call me if you have trouble. Okay?" 

Reid swallowed hard and slowly accepted the offered key. "O-okay." 

"Go on," Hotch prompted, nodding down the hall and watching as Reid backed away. 

"Th-thanks," Reid said, turning and bolting. 

~~~ 

Morgan was a dark shadow writhing in the sheets, skin damp with sweat. Harsh whispers, half-formed words, and throaty whimpers spilled from his mouth, lips pulled back to leave a white slash across a face twisted into a rictus of pain and anguish. 

Reid hesitated, chewing his lower lip. Hotch was right to worry; Reid had no chance of fighting Morgan off, not unless -- unless -- he fought with the desperation of a broken teenager, and not the training and experience of the expert hand-to-hand fighter Reid knew him to be. 

Even then, it would be more luck than calculation. 

Still... 

"Morgan, it's, it's me, Reid, it's o-okay." Reid struggled to keep his voice level, soothing. Tried to keep the threatening tears at bay. 

Morgan paused in his thrashing, eyebrows drawing together; then the nightmare overwhelmed him again and he turned away. 

The keycards hit the bedside table with a tiny snap-click as Reid eased onto the edge of the mattress. "Morgan, it's just m-me, y-you can wake up now." 

Again, the momentary stillness. 

Reid reached out and carefully touched Morgan's shoulder. 

Gasping for breath and wide-eyed with pain and panic, Morgan bolted upright, arms automatically coming up in a guard position. 

"It's Reid, Morgan, it's just me, just your friend, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," Reid started talking, keeping his voice low and even, not caring what he was saying. He backed off the bed and across the room, staying in Morgan's line of sight. 

Several minutes passed before some of the wildness faded from Morgan's eyes, before Reid allowed himself to pause his comforting babble to swallow hard. 

"Reid." Morgan's voice was rough and hoarse. 

"Just me, Morgan," Reid confirmed. "Can I, can I come back over there?" he asked plaintively. 

Morgan shuddered, sheets fisted in his hands. He nodded shortly. 

Stepping carefully, skittishly, Reid made his way around the bed again, pausing before the table before easing back onto the edge. 

Morgan still faced the wall, wouldn't make eye contact. 

Unsure what to say, what he _could_ say, Reid sat in silent comaraderie, listening to Morgan's ragged breathing, watching the tremors of remembered trauma rippling down his body. Watching his knuckles turn white in the sheets. 

Another few long minutes passed. Then Morgan forced himself to let go of the sheet and ran his hand over his scalp, scrubbing at his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's always...always makes me..." He shook his head, unable to suppress a huge sob. 

Reid gingerly rested a hand on Morgan's shoulder, rubbing back and forth soothingly over bare skin. Muscles jumped and twitched beneath his fingers, but Reid counted it a good sign when Morgan didn't flinch, didn't pull away. "I-I think...at this point, I, I'd normally try and get you to talk about it," his voice trailed away, and Reid frowned as Morgan shrank away from him. "But I have a better idea." 

Morgan didn't answer right away, let the tremors slow, let his rapid, choppy breathing settle. Swallowing convulsively, he tilted his head slightly, glancing up at Reid. "What's that?" 

"Hot shower." And suiting actions to words, Reid slid backwards off the bed, holding out a hand for Morgan. 

Morgan stared at it for a long moment. 

"You helped me once, after Washington," Reid said, holding his hand steady. "Will you let me return the favor?" 

Glancing away, then back at Reid's extended hand, Morgan swallowed, fought a losing battle. Finally, finally meeting Reid's eyes, he turned and reached and grasped Reid's hand in his own. 

Bracing himself, Reid watched as Morgan hauled himself out of bed. "It's just me," he whispered again, backing towards the bathroom, drawing Morgan reluctantly along. 

Morgan flinched at the light, shielding his eyes with his free hand and avoiding the mirror. Reid's hand slipped from his grasp then and he whimpered, then again, softer, as Reid ran a comforting hand down his arm. 

"Let me s-start the shower, ok? Can you get out of your sweats?" Reid waited for Morgan to nod uncertainly before he turned away and pulled aside the curtain, turned the faucet on and adjusted the temperature until clouds of steam billowed out across the room. 

Morgan had shed his sweatpants, but wouldn't meet his eyes again. 

Clenching his teeth momentarily, Reid rid himself of his own sleepwear, kicking the tangled garment into a corner. Then he reached out, one hand beneath Morgan's jaw, and gently, firmly, forced Morgan to look at him. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, do you hear me?" Reid's voice was harsh and gritty, his usual stutter gone. "None. It's all on his shoulders, Morgan." He watched as the words hit, watched Morgan's breath catch, eyes roll back, another tiny whimper making his jaw vibrate beneath Reid's fingers. 

"It's so hard...to believe that," Morgan whispered, accepting Reid's support in climbing into the tub. 

Trying to act like showering together was an everyday occurance, and not driven by need and desperation, Reid climbed in after, ignoring Morgan's seeming attempt to drown himself in the hot spray. As he lathered the washcloth, Reid debated whether or not to say something, and what he could say that wouldn't make the situation worse. 

Morgan was shaking his head, water droplets flying, when Reid turned back to him, having settled on humor. 

"Did you know that an order to, quote, 'put Kiwi on your boots', unquote, doesn't involve fruit?" he asked, warning Morgan with voice and proximity before he swept the washcloth over broad shoulders. "It's number fifty-five on The 213 Things Skippy Can't Do in the U.S. Army." 

Morgan's shoulders hitched, though whether in a laugh or a sob, Reid couldn't tell. 

'Let's try another one,' Reid thought to himself, keeping close attention on Morgan's physical reactions; he doubted he'd get much in the way of verbal cues. "Poor Skippy can't call block the chain of command, either. That's number seventy-eight." Reid allowed himself a small laugh. "I know I've been tempted to call block the BAU before..." 

That one got a snort, then a sneeze as Morgan apparently inhaled a bit of spray. 

Even so, Reid could feel the tension slowly fading, the muscles beneath the washcloth, beneath his hands, unknotting. "He can't refer to the first sergeant as 'Mom'. I wonder how Hotch would react if I called him that at breakfast tomorrow." 

"Better not," Morgan rumbled in answer. "If looks could kill..." 

"Hmm. Maybe I should try calling Gideon 'Dad'. That's number eighty-nine. Or rather," Reid continued, "Skippy can't refer to the commander as 'Dad'." 

All the tension that had fled Morgan's body from the shower and Reid's ministrations rushed back two-fold. 

Realizing the misstep too late, Reid silently castigated himself. 'Damn, damn, damn.' Morgan was too still, heart racing beneath hot water and hotter skin. "Morgan?" 

A high, thin keening filled the tiny space as tremors rippled over Morgan's frame. 

'Maybe...?' Reid gently reached out, keeping his touch light, platonic, and turned Morgan, unresisting, to face him. "Morgan?" 

Eyes dark with pain and guilt and anguish watered. Arms raised as if of their own volition, wanting to hold, to reach for comfort, but stopped. 

"It's okay, I'm here, it's okay to cry," Reid whispered, meeting Morgan halfway. Too narrow to offer the kind of enveloping support he wanted, Reid felt Morgan wrap himself around him instead, hands digging painfully into his shoulderblades, face buried in the hollow of neck and shoulder. Reid ran soothing hands up and down Morgan's back, feeling the muscles there shift and shudder with every heaving sob. 

Minutes ticked by in the hissing spray of water, slowly diminishing heat, lessening tension. Over it all, Reid could hear his own voice, cracking, hitching with each new wave of grief that ripped through the man in his arms, could hear Morgan's choking sobs, feel the tears against his neck and collarbone, hotter than the water sheeting over them both. 

The water had grown pleasantly cool by the time Morgan stilled, breathing still ragged, still clinging to Reid as if he were the only stable thing left in the world. 

"Morgan?" Reid changed the stroking of his hands to a soft pat, trying to get the older man's attention. "Water's getting cold. Can we get out and dry off?" 

Morgan rumbled unintelligibly into his shoulder, slowly, painfully prying himself away. When he would have let go entirely, Reid caught his hand, reaching out with the other to shut off the rapidly chilling water, then sweep the curtain aside and gingerly step backwards out of the tub. 

"Come on," Reid urged, pulling Morgan against him before reaching for a towel. Careful to keep skin-to-skin contact, Reid tenderly blotted Morgan dry, then gave himself a halfhearted going-over with the damp towel. "Bed?" 

Swallowing hard, Morgan turned bleak eyes to him, nodding slowly in agreement. "Only..." he coughed, turning away. "Only if..." 

"Morgan, I'm not going anywhere. You couldn't get me out of here with a crowbar." There was steel in Reid's voice; he wasn't going to budge. 

Another shudder wracked Morgan as he relaxed suddenly, leaning most of his weight on Reid's slender frame. They wobbled and swayed together for a moment until Reid managed to brace against the extra burden. 

"Come on, bed. Sleep." Reid painstakingly maneuvered them back through the door and to the bed before pausing, pulling the blankets down. "Which side do you want?" 

Morgan sighed, nudging Reid until he took the hint and climbed in. Taking an extra moment, Morgan straightened the sheets, then slid beneath and closer to Reid. 

"Just me, remember?" Reid asked, letting Morgan arrange them to his liking, until Reid lay flat on his back, Morgan's body tucked against his side, head pillowed on Reid's shoulder. "Sleep. I'll keep the nightmares away," he whispered, praying no more would come, praying he'd wake first, wake fast. 

The last of the tension slowly drained as Morgan succumbed to sleep, breath puffing out across Reid's chest at regular intervals. 

Reid lay awake a few minutes more, wondering at the trust Morgan had in him. 

Wondering at the warmth suffusing him, the protective instincts that no one else had ever stirred. 

Wondering if this was what it was to be loved. 

To be in love.


	7. The Logic of Sleep

Long after Reid disappeared around the corner, Hotch closed the hotel room door with a quiet _snick_ and rested one hand against it, idly rubbing the lock with one finger. Eyes closed tightly against the wellspring of worry and pain for his friend, he bowed his head, unkempt hair brushing the solid wood. 

How had he not seen? 

How had Morgan's inner torment, turmoil of years' worth of suppression, completely missed him? 

Or had it, and had he simply been unable, or worse, unwilling, to face it? 

Unwilling to help? 

"Hotch." 

Hotch inhaled deeply, opening eyes blurred with tears. Blinking rapidly, he fought them down, beat them back, trying to repair the cracks in his emotional armor. 

"Aaron, come back to bed, Reid can handle Morgan." Jason's voice was gentle, insistent. 

"Can he?" The question surprised even Aaron, more for the dead, scratchy quality in his voice than anything else. 

"You wouldn't have given him the key if you weren't sure of that. Or you would have insisted on going with him." 

"And if I'm wrong--" 

Jason sighed; Aaron sensed his wry smile, the bemused headshake. "You're not wrong and you know it. If you had been, Morgan would have called you, or you'd have heard it from the hall." 

Giving in, Aaron turned, stripping off his undershirt, balling it up and tossing it absentmindedly into a corner to be forgotten. Now that what he'd been waiting for had happened, he no longer needed the outer physical shell of SSA Hotchner, ready to respond to an emergency at a moment's notice. 

Or a tap on the door. 

His sweatpants and boxers were discarded with the same nonchalance, and though he kept his eyes lowered, he could feel Jason's gaze on him as he stripped. Letting Jason look his fill, Aaron moved to the bedside table, making sure the clock's time matched his watch, setting the alarm. 

Finally, at some unspoken signal, Aaron slid beneath the sheets, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before shutting his eyes. "Their dynamic's changed." 

"Yes, it has." Jason sounded amused. "Does that bother you?" He reached over, covering Aaron's right hand with his left, where it rested on the younger man's chest. 

Aaron spread his fingers, lacing them with Jason's and squeezing gently, taking the support offered. "No." Pause. "No, it doesn't." 

"And if it doesn't work?" 

Aaron shook his head slightly, rolling it on the too-fluffy hotel issue pillow. "Reid won't get into a relationship without intending it to be permanent. Not with someone on the team. He'll fight for it tooth and nail, in his own way. And he and Morgan balance each other out." 

Jason nodded. "And Morgan?" 

"He's been looking in all the wrong places for what's been right in front of him. At least, since Reid joined the team," he added softly. "They'll have their fights and arguments like any other couple, but any real problems from Morgan's side will be a knee-jerk reaction." Aaron shrugged, squeezed Jason's fingers between his own again. "I give him a week, ten days at most." 

"Sounds like you've thought it all out." 

Aaron snorted with quiet laughter. "And you haven't? Jason--" 

Jason smiled. "Surely you didn't think I hadn't. One of the reasons I wanted Reid on the team in the first place was because I saw that potential in him, personally, professionally, and yes, as a possible answer for Morgan's quest for understanding." 

Startled, Aaron caught his breath, eyes wide as he stared. 

"No, I didn't know what. I thought something might have happened to him, at some point, and knew that Reid had the kind of patience Morgan needs." Jason brushed Aaron's palm with his thumb. "Now that you know I approve of your matchmaking efforts, you need to get some sleep." 

"Not matchmaking so much as staying out of the way," Aaron grumbled good-naturedly, pressing his lips to Jason's knuckles, then leaned over and kissed Jason gently. Reluctantly, he backed off, letting go of Jason's hand, and reached up, turning the bedside lamp off. "Good night, Jason." 

"Hmm. Good night, Aaron," came the reply, bedlinens rustling as Jason moved closer, until they were touching from neck to knee, one of Jason's legs curled over Aaron's. 

Aaron twined his fingers with Jason's again, their joined hands coming to rest over his heart. Then he knew no more.


	8. An Innocent Secret

'Hurry up and wait' was far from the motto at the BAU. However, sometimes it did apply, and offered the odd morning off. A chance to have a leisurely team breakfast, speculate over the current case or past ones, and generally reinforce the mental and emotional supports they depended on. 

Morgan could have done without it as he stared into his coffee, dull silver spoon handle protruding from the murk. His right hand held a ballpoint pen, the notebook beneath covered in aimless scribbling. 

After the night terrors, the only person he'd been able to look in the eye was Reid. And Reid already knew. 

Not that the rest didn't, he told himself bitterly, in tired resignation. He'd felt the concerned looks, the worried gazes that slid over him before glancing away, not wanting to trespass. 

Still. 

Everything was raw, unsettled. The facade of maturity, stability, and strength he'd managed to construct, to maintain these past however many years had shattered, jagged pieces refusing to be put back together. 'I'm Humpty Dumpty, and even Reid's just another King's man.' 

"Jeez, Reid, hungry enough?" Emily's startled question was enough to pierce Morgan's melancholic stupor, and he glanced up. 

Reid smiled a little as he slid his tray onto the table across from Morgan, then started transferring things to the tabletop. 

A bowl of strawberries and melon, cold and sweet-smelling, was set in front of Morgan without apology, as was a plate containing a plain bagel with two tubs of strawberry jam. Tea followed, tiny water kettle, lemon mint tea bags, and a handful of honey packets set beside the cup and saucer. 

All too aware he was being watched, Morgan looked up from the simple feast laid out before him to Reid, wondering at the unexpected kindness. 

No pity. No sympathy. Just patience and understanding. 

Reid did, after all, have a perfect memory. He knew what Morgan ate when he'd an upset stomach. 

Morgan nodded in thanks, pushing the neglected coffee aside, reaching for a paper-wrapped tea bag with trembling fingers. 

Reid went back to setting his own breakfast on the table before sliding the then-empty tray onto the table next to them. By the time he'd finished and started in on a buttered and jellied raisin English muffin, the others' attention had drifted back to their own meals. 

Clink-clink-clink-clink-clink. The spoon chimed against the ceramic mug as Morgan stirred a small mountain of honey in the bottom, other normal sounds of breakfast fading into white noise in the background.

Then-- 

"Could you pass the salt, please?" Hotch's voice, soft and polite. 

Reid put down his coffee and handed it over. "Sure, Mom." 

Breakfast came to a sudden standstill, silverware clattering on dishes, liquid quickly swallowed lest it be choked on. 

Morgan blinked, glancing up at Reid. 

Reid just smiled, looking inordinately pleased with himself. 

Frozen in disbelief, Hotch looked torn, salt still clutched in his hand mid-pass. 

"Did you just call Hotch MOM?" Emily stared at Reid, stunned. 

"Darn Skippy!" 

It was too much. Entirely. Too. Much. 

Unable to stop the silent laughter, Morgan dropped his own spoon, swiftly covering his eyes and mouth with his hands, hunching over the table as his shoulders started shaking. 

Too caught up in his own mirth to respond to anything or anyone, Morgan could still feel Reid's proud, triumphant grin, the look of fond exasperation Hotch gave Reid, Gideon's amusement, Emily's shock, JJ's confusion. 

Before long, tiny hiccuping clicks and gasps for breath were all Morgan could manage. Fighting for control, he rocked back in his chair, tears streaming down his face, and shook a finger helplessly at Reid. 

Reid shrugged. "You didn't tell me I couldn't." 

The simple comment made Morgan lose control again, and he was panting and weak with relief by the time he'd regained control. "Don't--don't say it," he wheezed. 

One eyebrow rose questioningly. "Say what?" 

Morgan shook his head and gave Reid a dark look. 

Reid shrugged and tried to appear innocent, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with pleasure. 

Smiling lopsidedly, Morgan nodded in thanks again before taking a sip of his tea, now cool enough to drink and soothing to a throat abused by fear and laughter. His stomach rumbled, suddenly clamoring for more than the simple breakfast Reid had provided. He'd have to raid the hotel's too-generous buffet. 

Another glance at Reid told him he wouldn't have to. 

Even if Morgan still felt like Humpty Dumpty, Reid was no King's man.


	9. Heart Connection

_*twang* "Message for you, sir!"_

Lancelot's squire from Monty Python and the Holy Grail interrupted Garcia's idle blogsurfing. A few keystrokes shifted monitor displays around. "Oh, honey, what is it this time?" she lamented, reading the subject line.

_Gar...Penelope, please don't kill me..._

Swiftly making sure the door was shut and locked behind her (not that anyone still in town was at all likely to intrude), Penelope opened Spencer's email.

_I feel like I'm trespassing, and you're the last person who'd want to hear me talk (Ok, fine. Read.) about this, but I can't go to anybody else. And I have to talk to someone before I explode._

_I know you and Morgan. I don't know. I'm not the most perceptive person when it comes to personal relationships, and I never could figure out how far your relationship with him went. So if I'm stepping out of bounds, please forgive me. And keep any ass-kicking I deserve metaphorical?_

"Oh, dear," Penelope murmured to herself, suddenly realizing where this was going and castigating herself for not making it clear. How could Reid know?

_I thought it would be easier this way. Email you and tell you and let you have your reaction and think about it before I actually had to face you, but it's just as hard typing it._

_I can barely admit it to myself. Much less someone else._

_Even so, I owe it to you to tell you myself. Even if I am taking the coward's way out and doing it from halfway across the country._

_I love him. I mean, I'm in love with him._

_It hurts._

_After what he did for me in Albany, I thought it would be awkward, if only for a day or two, but it wasn't. It just made me more aware of him somehow._

_Chicago...I can't imagine how much it hurts. Hurts him to have us know. Hurts to know he failed all the other boys who were victims after he escaped._

_Hurts me not to be able to help. To want him the way I do, to crave his touch, and know he'll never want me that way._

Tears stung, blurred Penelope's vision. She paused, turning away from the computers to grab a tissue, dabbing at her eyes. "Damn." Her mascara was ruined, but it didn't matter. Reid did.

And once again she had to wonder at the bond of social awkwardness that had sprung up between them, to let Reid pour his heart out to his perceived rival.

Chest still tight, heart in her throat, she turned back to Reid's letter.

_I returned the favor last night. I couldn't stand to hear him and got the key to his room from Hotch. God only knows what he thinks is going on._

_Especially with what happened this morning. (See postscript.)_

_He cried, Penelope._

_I know what happens to child molesters in prison. I know what's going to happen to Carl, if it hasn't happened already._

_Somehow, it's not enough. I'm not sure what could be enough to repay this kind of pain._

_Morgan's. Damien's. The rest of the kids in Chicago, the ones Morgan couldn't protect._

_Mine._

_If I can't have him, at least I can be his friend._

_It's better than nothing at all._

_Love,_   
_Reid_

Penelope squeezed her eyes shut, tears sparkling down each cheek. "Spencer," she muttered determinedly, "the field is clear. You're exactly what he needs. And you'll get him, or my name's not Penelope Garcia." Grabbing another handful of tissues, she blew her nose and dried her eyes, viciously suppressing the urge to cry before turning back to the screen.

A moment later she was laughing, printing out a copy and tacking it to her corkboard.

_Things Spencer Reid is No Longer Allowed to do at the BAU_

_1\. Must not refer to Hotch as "Mom"._


	10. To Honor Wisdom

Gideon found Reid in the hotel courtyard, tossing bits of mangled bagel to the ducks clamoring noisily at him from the pond. To a stranger, Reid probably looked peaceful, but there was something forlorn in the hunch of shoulders, the slow, methodical way he tore each crumb and tossed it, the forced ignorance of the handful of other hotel guests using the paths through the gardens. 

"Mind if I join you?" Gideon asked, earning a momentary glance and a vague gesture at the mostly-empty bench. Sliding into the polished wood seat, Gideon sighed, studying his companion. 

Reid appeared tired, defeated. Lines of worry were written across his profile. There was a distant look in the eye Gideon could see, and he doubted Reid was seeing the ducks squabbling over the bagel crumbs, or the sunlight glinting off the water, or any of a dozen other things in the direction he was staring. 

Hoping Reid would break the silence between them, Gideon waited, watching as the bagel was finally demolished completely, then as Reid pulled an English muffin from the paper bag beside him. 

Tension slowly mounted in Reid's body, but he seemed determined to keep the silence, if uncomfortable. 

"That was a good thing you did at breakfast," Gideon finally said, taking pity. 

Reid's response was slow, as he visibly drew himself back to the here-and-now. "Is, is Hotch mad?" 

"Of course not," Gideon said, smiling indulgently. "You were obviously sharing a private joke with Morgan and trying to make him feel better." Gideon paused, noting how Reid flinched at Morgan's name. "And it worked. I'm impressed. And I'm proud of you." 

Reid turned a painful shade of red, curling over on himself even as some of the tension flowed from his shoulders. 

"You probably shouldn't make a habit of it, though," Gideon continued, trying to allay some of Reid's discomfort. 

Still refusing to meet Gideon's eyes, Reid shook his head, swallowing hard. 

Resigned to a mostly one-sided conversation, Gideon kept trying. "You were quoting from the Skippy list." 

Reid glanced up, swallowing again. 

"The 213 things Skippy is no longer allowed to do in the U.S. Army?" 

Reid got that distant look in his eyes again. "Number eighty-eight: Must not refer to First Sergeant as 'Mom'." 

Gideon nodded slowly. "What was the other thing Morgan didn't want you to say?" 

Blushing painfully again, Reid shrank in upon himself. "Calling Hotch 'Mom' was a joke," he whispered after a long, squirming pause. 

Number 89 on the list was "Must not refer to the Commander as "Dad"; Gideon had looked it up after breakfast, when Reid had vanished as soon as he'd been able. If calling Hotch "Mom" was a joke for Reid, then calling Gideon "Dad" wasn't. It was the only reason Reid would be at all uncomfortable about it. 

Gideon smiled to himself, heart full and warm. He'd long thought himself a failure as a father to Stephen, and was only slowly building a relationship with his son. And while Reid's father was still alive, his abandonment of Reid's mother had forever tainted that relationship. 

"I'm honored," Gideon said softly, reaching out to rest a gentle hand on Reid's shoulder. 

Shivering, Reid looked up in surprise, breath catching in his throat. "You...you don't...you don't m-mind?" he asked in a tiny, meek voice.

"Why would I mind?" Gideon frowned in honest confusion. 

Reid swallowed hard. "I...Elle...I mean...you always seemed so..." He broke off and turned away, unable to finish. 

Gideon had to pause, cursing himself silently. How many times had he or the others hurt Reid unintentionally, simply by rebuffing each other? How many times had they pushed him away, if only by making him afraid to get closer? In painfully real terms, they were all the family Reid had. "Elle isn't you, Reid." 

It wasn't enough. 

Carefully burying his anger with himself, Gideon offered his own vulnerability. "Any decent man would be proud to have you as a son. And to be brutally honest, I've thought of you as mine for a long time." His voice rumbled quietly across the gulf between them. "I'm..." He searched for words. "I'm sorry I haven't made that clear to you before now." 

A shudder rippled through Reid's frame. 

After what seemed an eternity, Gideon felt a trembling hand slide tentatively over his.


	11. An Everyday World

Morgan flipped his cellphone closed after assuring Hotch he and Reid were on the way. As important as the case was - as important as any case was - he was more concerned about Reid, sitting nervous and preoccupied in the passenger seat. "Hey." 

"Hmm?" Reid tilted his head, making brief eye contact before dropping his gaze to his hands. 

The sad, almost forlorn expression he'd barely glimpsed in Reid's eyes didn't belong there. "Talk to me, kid, what's going on?" 

"I was just, just thinking about--" 

"Reid." 

Reid blinked. 

"Whatever crap you were about to give me about the case, don't bother, okay? It's just me here." Morgan waited out the stunned, embarrassed silence, making a smooth lefthand turn behind a dark purple minivan. "You don't have to hide anything from me, you know that." 

"Nightmares," Reid blurted, ashamed. 

"Nathan again?" Morgan frowned; he hadn't heard anything the night before. 

"No, I, I didn't have any last night, at least not that I know of. But still. I was thinking..." Discomfort making his voice dwindle to nothing, Reid swallowed hard. 

"Thinking what?" 

"I always...I sleep better when you're there. And, and...you seem to be--" 

_So that was it._ "Reid? I don't mind sharing rooms on a regular basis, if that's what you're trying to get at." 

"Um." He didn't elaborate. 

_Ok, so that wasn't it._ "Reid, come on, talk to me. I don't profile my friends, and I can't read your mind." Morgan had to pry his fingers off the steering wheel, his white-knuckled grip having left dents in the padded leather. 

"I, uh, d-didn't want to, to get in the way, I mean, I don't-" 

"Reid, you know I don't pick up when we're out on a case. My rep is just that, it's how other people see me. It's not true." 

Reid stared at him, half shocked, half amazed. There was a touch of--something, something Morgan didn't want to identify in his eyes. 

Training his gaze back on the road, Morgan chastised himself for how much he liked that look, how much he wanted to see it again, how much he wanted to be the one to put it there. But if sharing a room wasn't what Reid wanted, what was? Getting in the way meant... Oh. Only the fact that Morgan was driving kept him from shutting his eyes and trying to fight off a burgeoning headache, pain at his own obtuseness starting a dull throb at his temples. 

Reid wanted to be touched. Morgan knew, they all knew, how touch-starved Reid must be, growing up the way he had. The whole team had started communicating more through physical contact since Reid had joined, if only to try and alleviate that need, but none of them shared the kind of connection with Reid that Morgan did. None of the others could offer Reid the security that sharing a bed gave him, gave them both, skin to skin and wrapped up in each other. Reid had never complained about being smothered when Morgan invariably slept half on top of him, never... 

Morgan swallowed. "You're right, we both sleep better," he managed, throat tight. "Come on over to my room when you're ready to go to bed. If nothing else, we can keep each other from having those nightmares." 

"And maybe get a decent night's sleep once in a while," Reid said, his shaky voice barely more than a whisper. 

_And maybe a whole lot more, someday,_ Morgan thought to himself, nodding, thankful that they were turning into the parking lot. 

Someday, when Morgan's wounds weren't quite so raw, when Reid could see the forest for the trees. 

Someday.


	12. Unlocking the World

Hearing Reid's story start winding down behind him, Morgan quit surveying the hotel lobby and turned back towards the front desk. Sure enough, Hotch was on his way back, stack of keycard envelopes in his hand. 

Morgan had no idea how Reid managed to time his stories that well. It didn't seem to matter who was checking the team in. 

"Ok, normal rooming assignments. Since this is a conference and not a case, and since I'm not your mother," there was a smattering of quiet laughter, a snort from Garcia, and a blindingly innocent smile from Reid, "you don't have a curfew and you each have your own room. We're on the fourth floor in the east wing. Morgan." He held out the first tiny envelope. 

Morgan accepted it with a nod, tucking it into his palm. He lifted his duffel bag over his shoulder as Hotch gave Reid, then the others their room keys. 

They were a rather boisterous group as the team made their way to the elevators: calling out greetings to law enforcement officers they recognized, there for the conference; teasing and gently bumping each other with luggage; voicing idle speculations on the effect the conference would have on the local crime rate over the weekend. 

Then Morgan was at the door to his room, 435, the rest of the team passing him and fanning out down the hallway, with Reid nextdoor and Gideon at the opposite end. 

His duffel landed with a soft _whump_ on his feet. Tipping the envelope over, he frowned; it was too heavy for the standard two room keys. Had Hotch forgotten to take out the third? 

Three plastic keys slid halfway out of the envelope, a folded piece of memo paper on top - the kind Hotch used at home. 

Pulling the bottom keycard out, he tapped the rest of the contents back inside and let himself in, dropping his bag by the door and tossing the key to the room on the desk. 

The note was unfolded, and one glance told Morgan more than he wanted to know. 

Told him that, from one survivor of child abuse to another, the need for support, for patience, would be met. 

Even if Morgan couldn't accept it from Hotch. 

It was all Morgan could do to keep from balling the scrap of paper in his fist; his hand trembled with the force of it. 

One lone, salty drop splashed onto the note, soaking the paper and making Morgan panic, frantically dabbing at it with the hem of his t-shirt. Blue ink blurred, turned fuzzy, but didn't run as he pressed it flat against the wooden tabletop. 

_Derek -_

_I took the liberty of arranging for you and Spencer to have another extra room key. From here on, the two of you will have to trade between yourselves._

There was a pause, a darker, deeper mark where the pen dug into the period, signalling a hesitation. 

_May you bring each other peace._

_\-- Aaron_


	13. Chapter 13

Hotch frowned, tipping the legal-sized manila envelope almost upside down. The contents slid into his opposite hand, a pale, pastel green envelope, standard greeting-card sized. Block letters in black ink read "Hotch", nothing else.

Setting the interoffice envelope aside, he turned the smaller envelope over, read the Saturday logo on the flap, then back over to inspect the writing.

'Reid's the handwriting expert, but this gives me nothing,' he thought to himself with a shrug, slitting the envelope across the top with a blunt nail.

The card was white, with a simply-drawn bunny holding a huge bouquet of brightly-colored flowers, captioned "FOR YOU".

"Ooookay," Hotch said to himself, opening the card.

The left hand side was full of very familiar, elegant scrawl: Reid's handwriting. The right hand side was printed with "Hope you're having a hoppy Mother's Day!", with a little carrot and the word belated written between "a" and "hoppy".

Unable to entirely suppress a wince, Hotch had to smile ruefully at the reminder, memories of Morgan reduced to helpless laughter vibrant in the back of his mind. At least now he understood the hesitant, uncertain look Reid had given him as he came in to work this morning.

_"Hotch--_   
_All gender stereotypes and such aside, I wanted to thank you for all the support and guidance..."_

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling his eyes tear up and holding them back by sheer force of will as he read.

It wasn't like he didn't know Reid looked up to him; they all did, to some degree.

But...

He didn't deserve this.


	14. Chapter 14

Aaron could feel Haley watching, hovering over the back of the couch. For a time, she held her peace, content in the comfortable silence between them, in the precious space of Jack's naptime. 

Then, her hand brushed the back of his neck, across one strong shoulder. He couldn't help but flinch, attention torn from the too-familiar card in his hands, its white bunny and bright flowers burned indelibly in his brain. 

"Why do you have a Mother's Day card?" Haley asked, her tone curious and gentle. 

Choking on a laugh, Aaron had to juggle to keep from dropping it. "How'd you know--" he started; he hadn't yet opened it in front of her. The cover only read "For You". 

"I saw it in the display when I was looking for one for my mom." 

Aaron shrugged. "Spencer gave it to me." 

Haley rounded the couch to slide next to him on the cushions, still confused, still accepting. 

"Do you remember when we went to Chicago, when Derek--" 

Tension knotted Haley's shoulders, made her grit her teeth. "When that bastard framed Derek for murder." 

Aaron nodded, some of his pleasure in the card dimming. "He had...nightmares, after. Like Spencer did, for Nathan." 

"I'm not surprised," she replied, her voice filled with sadness and concern. 

"Spencer called me 'Mom' at breakfast the next morning," Aaron went on, unable to keep from smiling softly at the memory. "Derek had been...depressed is too mild a word." Aaron shook his head. "Everyone else was staring in shock at Spencer. Derek cracked up laughing, like it was some kind of in joke between them." 

"So he gave you a Mother's Day card? Isn't that taking it a little far?" 

"I'd thought so...It's been something of a joke on the team since then, but this..." and he tapped the card once, then rubbed the edge with a careful thumb, "makes me think otherwise." 

Haley reached out, covering Aaron's hand with hers. "Can I read it?" Her eyes were wide, fathomless. 

Aaron hesitated, reading the love in her gaze, the unwillingness to trespass. Then his hand slid from beneath hers, trusting the card into her possession. 

Carefully paying the card the same, slight awe-struck respect and near reverence that Aaron had, Haley pulled it closer so she wouldn't have to lean over Aaron's shoulder. 

Unable to help himself, Aaron catalogued every tiny reaction: tensing and untensing of muscles, caught breath, shift in position, dabbing at the corner of an eye. 

Aaron could hear the words in his head, in Spencer's voice, somewhere between lecture-mode and that I'm-annoyed-enough-to-lose-my-stammer tone he had when he was angry but unwilling to start an argument. He'd memorized them days earlier. 

_Hotch--_

_All gender stereotypes and such aside, I wanted to thank you for all the support and guidance you've offered since I joined the BAU. For the first time in what feels like - and may well be - forever, I feel like I have a family, and more importantly, parents I can turn to, and count on._

_I should probably be using 'parental figures', but...after being forced into the position of caretaker for most of my life, 'parental figure' doesn't really fit how I feel._

_I have parents who offer unconditional support now, whether I can ask for it or not. Parents who let me make my mistakes, but make sure those mistakes don't hurt too badly. It's a novel idea, for me, and one that is hard for me to accept after so many years._

_I'm sure you've long since realized that. At least, I can't think of any other reason you'd allow me into your family._

_Considering how little time you have with Haley, and now Jack, it's amazing to me that you would sacrifice it for my sake, but you've always been here for me. You've never turned me away, even if I call at two in the morning just needing someone to talk to. I can only imagine how Haley must feel about the team, and myself, taking more of the time you consider sacred. I owe her a debt of gratitude, and an apology for taking you away from her._

_I feel as though I could write for days and not say everything I need to, so let me just say this:_

_It's been said that friends are the family we choose for ourselves._

_I wouldn't want anyone else to be my mom._

_So, with all due respect, I hope you had a Happy Mother's Day._

_Love,_   
_Spencer_

 

As she finished reading, Haley was rubbing her eyes, holding the card away from her body to keep tears from damaging the flimsy cardstock. Then she turned back to him, pressing the card back into his hands. "You're a very lucky man, Aaron," she whispered. 

Unable to speak, Aaron nodded. 

"Did you know he felt like this?" she asked, gesturing vaguely towards the card. 

"I knew he looked up to me," Aaron said, shrugging self-deprecatingly. "But nothing like this. It makes me wonder...Spencer, and Derek, and myself...we all have..." He sighed. "Issues, with parents. Or the people who fill those roles." 

"I would have thought Jason would have been the logical choice for that role, at least for Spencer. And maybe Derek." 

"We've talked about that a little. Jason and Spencer at least acknowledged that bond, but," and Aaron shook his head, frustrated. "They're both skittish. Jason doesn't want to repeat the same mistakes, and Spencer..." 

"Spencer's father abandoned him, and forced him into adult shoes." 

Aaron nodded. 

"Ever since you started working at the BAU...I always thought you had two families. I don't think I ever realized how very real that was, until now," Haley said, brushing her shoulder against Aaron's arm. "I guess the most important thing is, are you okay with being Spencer's mom?" 

In any other situation, it would have been laughable. 

In any other world, a joke. 

That Haley had managed to ask with a straight face, her tone nothing short of deadly serious, amazed Aaron. 

He could only rub the card with his thumb again, the inked flowers painfully clear in shades of red and yellow and white. "I think I am."


	15. To Let the World Rest

It wasn't unusual for one of them to have trouble sleeping after a case, particularly on the plane ride home. 

It really wasn't, Morgan told himself as he watched Reid surreptitiously over the top of his book. 

Reid sighed deeply and rolled over. 

Stilled. 

Slow, even breathing, quiet of a body at rest. 

Then slight restlessness, jerky movement of head and hands, twitching feet. 

A stifled gasp, and Reid was sitting up, repositioning himself, clutching his satchel to his chest like a beloved stuffed animal leftover from childhood. 

The first time it'd happened, Gideon had offered a game of chess; Reid had begged off, knowing full well he'd be soundly trounced in his state of exhaustion. 

Morgan met Hotch's eyes across the cabin; Hotch merely raised one eyebrow. 'No help from that quarter,' Morgan grumbled to himself inwardly. 

Insomnia wasn't unusual on the plane. 

The scent of fear, though faint and sporadic, was entirely foreign. 

"Reid," Morgan spoke up the next time - the fifth time - Reid tried to get comfortable in the cramped two-person seat. 

Glazed eyes met his, a shadow of terror in the hazel orbs. 

"C'mere." Morgan patted the long couch he sat on, scooting himself to the galley end to leave the rest for Reid's lanky frame. 

Reid just stared at him blankly. 

Morgan patted the couch next to him again, and was gratified to see Reid's eyes focus somewhat. 

Reid swallowed, sitting up in his seat. 'Can I--?' his eyes pleaded. 

Quirking his lips in a half-smile, Morgan tilted his head in acknowledgement. 'Get _over_ here,' he tried to put in his own eyes. 

Wobbling unsteadily, as if his joints weren't properly connected, Reid got to his feet and stumbled the ten feet or so across the cabin, reaching out to lean on the back of the couch, hand against the cold metal wall of the plane. 

"Here," Morgan whispered, putting his book aside, taking Reid's satchel from him and setting it on the floor at his feet. Then, hands gentle, he reached up, guiding Reid's trembling body to the couch, supporting him as he tipped over sideways, knees bent, toes hanging off the end. One dark hand combed through light brown hair, easing Reid's head to a denim-covered thigh. "Better?" 

Reid nodded, chafing his cheek on the rough cloth. "Thanks," he whispered, the s drawing out into a hiss as sleep overcame him.


	16. A Waking World

Morgan stretched a little, arching his back; his book dangled from one hand, thumb keeping his place. The trip home from Anchorage was too. Damn. Long. A caught breath made him still, settling back into his original position and glance down. 

Bleary hazel eyes looked up, dazed and less than fully awake. A quiet, interrogative grunt asked a half dozen questions. 

"Sorry, Reid," Morgan said, voice soft in deference to Reid and the others. "We still have..." and he checked his watch. "An hour and a half or so before we land. You're welcome to go back to sleep, I'll get you a pillow if you--" 

Another grunt, this time negative in tone, answered, and Reid pushed his head back against Morgan's free hand, where it rested against the nape of his neck. 'Pillows don't give neckrubs,' Reid was saying, too exhausted to bother with words. 

Chuckling quietly, Morgan stroked Reid's hair, letting the heavy silk sift through his fingers. "Understood." 

Reid purred contentedly, a soft rumble of sound as he scrubbed his cheek against Morgan's jean-clad thigh. Then he curled up tighter, knees brushing the back of the couch, and stilled again, eyes closing in sleep. 

Morgan felt the weight of curious gazes upon him as he went back to his book, free hand idly petting Reid's hair. He shrugged mentally and ignored them; he had nothing to explain or apologize for. And thankfully, nothing he needed to hide. 

Not yet, anyway. 

And, he hoped and suspected, not ever.


	17. Compassionate Curiosity

JJ scrubbed at her eyes, glaring at the open file in her lap. It refused to come into focus, her overtaxed mind more interested in her teammates on the other side of the plane than the gruesome photographs and stark reports in front of her. 

Morgan was still reading, book in his left hand, right elbow draped over Reid's shoulder, hand stroking Reid's hair absentmindedly. Every so often, Morgan flipped the book over, thumb holding his place, so he could look down at the sleeper using him for a pillow. 

JJ had never seen that tender look on his face before and had to wonder. 

What had changed between them? 

They all had nightmares; any agent worth his or her badge did, at least occasionally. Reid having one on the plane wasn't surprising. 

Morgan being able to stop it - more importantly, _how_ he was able to stop it - was. 

Giving up on the files, she let them sag forgotten in her lap. 

For once in her career, JJ regretted not having the training her teammates had. 

'Oh, come on. You've spent years working with the best profilers in the country,' she told herself. 'This isn't rocket science.' 

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. 'If I were Reid...the only reason Morgan would let me sleep like that would be if we were dating, but Morgan's straight. Except...' A tiny shiver zipped down her spine. 'What Carl did to him probably made him reject anything less than one hundred percent heterosexual. And Reid isn't exactly a threat of any sort.' 

'Reid...well, I always thought he was bi, at best. Lila Archer not withstanding.' JJ spared a moment to recollect Reid's crush on the actress. 

'They've been...closer, almost since Chicago,' and her mind shied away from the ugly history she'd learned while there. 'And Reid calling Hotch "Mom"...' 

'If they're lovers, why would they hide it?' 

Her hands closed the file folder; she stared at them dumbly, as if they belonged to someone else. 

'Because they aren't...yet?' 

JJ huffed a sigh and tossed the file carelessly on the seat next to her, one of the photos escaping the clip to peek out from the edge. Throat dry, she got to her feet and made her way to the tiny galley for a glass of water, then slid onto the bench seat beside Emily and eyed Gideon and Hotch across the table. 

"Is there something we should know about them?" she asked quietly, knowing the roar of the plane and distance would keep Morgan from overhearing. 

Gideon didn't look up from his contemplation of the chessboard. "Morgan and Reid have found a way to help each other cope." 

"And?" 

Hotch glanced at her from beneath raised eyebrows. "And what?" 

"That's a little personal for coworkers, or even friends," JJ explained. 

"Jealous?" JJ could hear Emily's smirk. 

"No. I just want to know." 

"Know what?" Gideon moved a knight, taking one of Emily's rooks. "Your move." 

JJ grit her teeth, then forced herself to relax. “Morgan and Reid have gotten really close since...what went down in Chicago.” 

“True.” 

“So, are they...involved?” JJ asked, having pondered and discarded several less polite terms. 

“Give them a few weeks,” Hotch answered. 

JJ nodded, her suspicions confirmed. “Does Garcia know?” 

Finally tearing his gaze from the chess game, Gideon looked up at her and smiled. “Garcia knew before any of us did. Maybe before they did,” he added, nodding towards the pair at the other end of the plane. 

Relieved, JJ finger-combed a strand of hair out of her face and sighed. “Good, I don’t want to have to help hide any bodies.” 

Emily and Hotch laughed; Gideon gave a small smile. 

“What?” JJ asked, indignantly. “You know she would.” 

Emily patted her on the shoulder, commiserating. “I’ll help you hide the bodies, JJ.”


	18. Empathic Adaptations

"Do you think you could be a little more discreet?" The words were out of Morgan's mouth before he'd finished closing the conference room door. 

JJ blinked, stepping back into the edge of the table. "Excuse me?" 

"On the plane? You outed me and Reid. You could have gotten both of us fired." Morgan's voice was low and angry. 

'No, not angry, annoyed,' JJ decided, feeling her face heat with mortification. "You heard me?" 

Morgan shook his head once. "Emily told me you sounded jealous. I had to ask her what she was talking about." 

"And she told you." 

A glare was her only answer. 

JJ steeled herself. "I'm sorry, you're right. I should have used more discretion," she started. 

"You could have just asked me," Morgan pointed out acidly. 

"No, I couldn't have. I couldn't have asked Reid, either," JJ went on, holding up a hand to keep Morgan from interrupting her again. "I am sorry I said anything in front of Emily. I didn't know if the two of you were...in a relationship, or moving in that direction, or just..." She shook her head. "After what we learned in Chicago, and Reid...I didn't know if what I thought I was seeing was real or not." 

"Wait," Morgan broke in then. "What about Reid?" 

"Reid started high school at age twelve," JJ pointed out wryly. "I know he was bullied; I don't know how badly, and part of me doesn't want to. I thought you might," she finished with a shrug. "In any case, I couldn't ask you, or Reid, without risking the comfort you obviously gave each other, or making things awkward between us, or between you and Reid. So I went to Gideon and Hotch to see if I was seeing things." She paused, looking Morgan squarely in the eyes, willing him to listen. "I am sorry I said anything in public. You're right, I don't have the right to decide that for you. I won't do it again." 

Morgan didn't answer right away, but as JJ held his gaze, the tension slowly leeched from his frame. "I'll hold you to that," he said finally.

JJ nodded. "Are we good?" 

"What do you mean, are we good?" he asked in honest confusion. 

"You and Hotch have been...distant, at best, since Chicago. I don't want you to be on the outs with two of us at the same time." 

He nodded slowly. "We're good." 

"Then do you mind if I ask what's going on with you and Reid?" JJ smiled. 

The question startled a laugh from Morgan. "Now you ask me," he said, shaking his head in bemusement. 

JJ simply shrugged, tilting her head sideways a little. 

Morgan reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his arm carelessly. "I love him, JJ," he finally answered quietly. 

"I rather thought that was the case, back on the plane," JJ said softly. "And Reid?" 

Morgan shook his head. "I don't know." Reluctantly, he moved further into the room and all but collapsed into a chair, playing with a pen left on the table despondantly. "I just don't know." 

"You'll have to talk to him about it - eventually - but from what I've seen, I don't think you have anything to worry about." Pause. "If my opinion counts for anything, what with me not being a profiler," JJ added, resting one hand on his shoulder in support. 

There was a poignant mix of sadness and hope on Morgan's face as he looked up at her. "It counts for a lot, JJ." Then he smiled, a flash of white teeth showing for a moment. "Question for you." 

"Okay." 

"Why were you jealous?" 

JJ groaned softly. "I wasn't jealous of either of you. But you looked so comfortable with each other..." Her voice trailed off. "I want that with someone," she finally added. 

Morgan's hand covered hers in support. After a long moment, he bowed his head. "Thanks." The word was nearly inaudible. 

"You're welcome." JJ didn't have to ask what for. "You can talk to me, you know." 

"That's what I'm afraid of."


	19. Chapter 19

_Paperwork, the bane of my existence,_ Morgan thought to himself as he pushed yet another finished form and set it aside, then the pen, and shook his hand. _I'd rather be out doing something._

 _'But then people have to die,'_ his conscience whispered back. 

_They already are dying, and I'm stuck here filling out forms!_ Giving up, he turned in his chair, letting go the focus he'd locked himself into to get the job done. 

The office was relatively quiet; the constant hum of typing, crunching computers, scratching pens and rustling paper droned on, like any other office. Hotch and Gideon were both visible in Gideon's office through the window, the door closed. Neither JJ nor Emily were in sight, probably in the break room, JJ's office, or with Garcia in her bunker. Reid, on the other hand, was staring at the file folder in his lap, frustration and sadness in his posture, in his expression. 

"Reid?" 

Reid jerked back in his chair, startled, and had to struggle to keep the folder from spilling all over the floor. Blushing and breathing hard, he finally turned wide eyes to Morgan, his expression puzzled. 

"Big think?" 

Seeming unwilling to meet his eyes then, Reid shrugged, concentrating instead on straightening the file, then tossing it back on the desk. 

Morgan raised an eyebrow. _Embarrassing, personal, or...me,_ he decided. "Want to talk about it? The conference room should be free," he added as Reid glanced around the room. 

Reid took in a shuddering breath, then nodded. 

Once inside, Morgan shut the door behind him, leaning back against it as Reid slowly paced around the table, gingerly rubbing the edge, running his hands over the backs of the chairs. Patience, he told himself. 

Finally, Reid looked up, pinning him with a sad, forlorn stare. "Are, are you ever g-going to forgive him?" he asked, voice thin and cracking. 

Morgan blinked. "What?" 

"Hotch. For, for d-digging, for--" 

"Wait a minute, Reid, Hotch and I aren't fighting." 

"You're not b-being friends, either. He k-keeps waiting for y-you to t-tell him it's, it's okay, or something, I, I d-don't know," he ended on a whisper, hugging his arms to him. 

Pushing off the door with a huge sigh, Morgan rubbed the back of his head with one hand. "Reid, it's between Hotch and me, and--" 

"It's **not!** It's not!" Reid broke in, upset. "It's hurting you, and him, and affecting the rest of the team! How are we supposed to keep working when the two of you can't be more than civil to each other?" 

Morgan had heard Reid lose his stutter before, in lecture-mode, or angry, but that anger had never been directed at him before. He didn't like it. "That's my choice," Morgan rumbled back, his own anger piqued. 

"And what choice did _he_ have? It was either leave you to be framed for three murders, or help you frame Rodney Harris, or find out the truth." 

"I didn't want him to know the truth!" Anger. Rage. Self-loathing. 

Fear. 

"Don't you think he knows that? Don't you think we all know that? Hotch's father beat the living daylights out of him! You think it's any easier for him, to find out that you had to suffer and him be forced to use it to defend you?!" 

"He should have done as I asked!" Desperation. 

"No." Reid paused, glaring, gulping in air. "No, he shouldn't have. To leave you in prison? Is that anything a friend would do? Would a friend help you frame someone else?" Step by step, Reid came closer. 

Unaccountably, Morgan found himself backing up, until he felt the wood of the door against his back again. 

"Have we really treated you all that differently since?" 

Cornered, Morgan trembled, unable to answer the understanding in Reid's voice, in his eyes. Understanding he didn't want to know the cause of. Too close to knowing, he closed his eyes against it, shrinking back into himself. 

"Morgan?" 

A gentle hand touched his neck, brushing down below his ear to his shoulder. 

"It's **over,** Morgan." 

Soothing. Comforting. 

The same gifts they offered each other in the dark of night, in waking nightmares on the road. 

"It's over," Reid said again. 

Morgan had the feeling he'd keep repeating those two words. 

"It's over." 

Need welled up, uncaring of their location, that the rest of the team could barge in -- not with both of them pressed up against the door -- for another case, that a dozen other possibilities existed for interruption, or lack of privacy. Unable to stop himself, Morgan reached out, dragging Reid more fully against him, burying his face in Reid's pale, pale throat as he shuddered. 

"It's over."


	20. Flawed Logic

Satisfied, Hotch watched as the local cops handled the wrap-up. The UnSub had been zipped into a black bodybag and taken away; the injured were being wheeled into waiting ambulances, or treated by paramedics and turned loose. 

They'd gotten there in time to keep anyone else from dying. 

Anyone besides the UnSub, but that was, after all, somewhat par for the course. Hotch knew he couldn't save everyone; that had been drummed into him too early, too painfully, for him to believe otherwise. At least this time the only one to pay the ultimate price was the one who'd caused the chaos. 

Turning, Hotch started back to the car, seeking privacy. 

"Hotch?" 

Morgan's voice pulled him back, made him frown. Morgan hadn't sought him out outside of official case business for weeks. "Yes?" he answered, carefully keeping his voice neutral. 

Morgan slowed, glancing around at the emergency personnel and vehicles slowly vacating the area. "You want to grab a cup of coffee before we head back? There's a shop around the corner." There was something anxious, something desperate in his voice. "I told Gideon to leave a car behind for us." 

Gideon knew about the rift between them, Hotch finished silently. Knew and was hoping, praying, that Morgan wanted to rebuild that bridge. 

For all their sakes. 

Hotch nodded. "Lead the way." 

Some of the tension in Morgan's shoulders bled away as he turned, heading out of sight of the crime scene. 

A few minutes later, they were tucked into the corner of a local coffee shop, nursing mugs of rich French roast. 

"I'm glad we got rid of the kevlar," Morgan muttered. Employees and other customers alike were nervous from the sounds of gunfire and sirens. 

"Mmhmm." 

Morgan was quiet then, staring into his coffee, shoulders tensing again. 

Fully aware that pushing wasn't going to help, Hotch kept his peace. 

"I wanted--" Morgan started, throat tight and voice raspy. He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. "I know I haven't been the easiest person to work with these last few weeks. Since..." Another pause, this time to take a deep breath and shut his eyes tightly, steeling himself for the stab of pain Hotch knew was coming. "Chicago. I wanted--want to, apologize." 

Hotch nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, but didn't reply. Something told him Morgan wasn't finished. 

Shaking his head, Morgan sighed, then ran a hand over his scalp. "I've spent so long, so much trying to move past it, ignore it...Every time it gets dragged up again, it's like I have to start all over again." 

"Did you ever talk to anyone about it?" 

Morgan didn't answer right away, staring instead, weighing the question, probably wondering whether it was just a question, or a thinly veiled offer. Finally, jaw tight, he nodded. "Once." 

Hotch waited, giving Morgan the chance to elaborate and debating the wisdom of making the offer Morgan expected. 

"Why?" 

"Because I've spent a great deal of time since then asking myself how I missed it. Or even," and Hotch paused this time, bracing himself for the brutal truth, "if I didn't miss it and just didn't want to deal with it. If I just didn't know how to help you." 

"What? Hotch, you didn't see it 'cause I didn't want you to. My own mother didn't know." Morgan let out a bitter laugh then. "It's one of the reasons I went into profiling, so I could hide it that much better." 

"You weren't bluffing then." Hotch didn't bother to explain; it wasn't necessary. 

Morgan shook his head. "Not one bit." Regret and self-castigation crossed his face. "It kills me, knowing that I wasn't there to stop it, that I just took what I wanted and walked away. I'll pay for that cowardice for the rest of my life." 

"You paid for it already. In spades. Besides," and Hotch risked touching, rested fingertips on Morgan's wrist, "a coward doesn't go back and face down his nightmares." 

"Face down my nightmares," Morgan repeated, snorting in derision. "It doesn't work like that, Hotch." 

"If it did, you wouldn't have Reid now, would you?" 

Morgan froze, coffee halfway to his lips. Then there was a sharp *thock* of mug hitting tabletop. "Whatever you think you know about Reid and me--" he started, his tone dark and angry. 

"--is likely true, and if I had any objections to it I would have said so long before now," Hotch finished, keeping his amusement to himself. 

The anger faded slowly, Morgan picking up the mug again and settling back in his chair. "So what was Phoenix, matchmaking?" 

"No, that was me trying to make sure you and Reid got what you needed without either of you having to ask for it." Hotch raised an eyebrow. "You two seem to be doing quite well on your own." 

Morgan laughed, this time less bitter, more heartfelt. A small smile played across his lips. "So you don't care, huh?" 

"I care a great deal. The two of you have been supporting each other in ways that I don't think you'd let anyone else. And your performance hasn't suffered for it, either." Hotch shrugged. "It's improved, actually." 

"You've got to be kidding me." 

Hotch watched Morgan shake his head in disbelief. "No, I'm not." 

Morgan slumped forward then, hands wrapped around his mug, staring at the empty chair across the table. 

"Morgan?" 

Confused, pained eyes turned back towards him. "D'you think..." Morgan broke off, unable to finish. 

"I think you should talk to Reid." 

Morgan grimaced. "Now that'll be the blind leading the blind." 

Hotch laughed ruefully. "Personally, I don't think you have anything to worry about, but it'd be better coming from Reid." 

Letting out a noncommital noise, Morgan sighed, his breath ruffling the surface of his coffee. "You know," he started after a long pause, still not looking up from the table, "it's nice, having someone to take care of. Someone who'll take care of me, and still be equals." The confidence was offered tentatively, as if Morgan were unsure whether he were overstepping his bounds. 

"Only nice?" 

Morgan finally glanced up and met Hotch's gaze. "Nice is about all I'm willing to admit to at this point." 

"Ah." Hotch smiled, the expression lighting his eyes. "I'm making an assumption here, but I'm guessing whoever you talked to wasn't Reid." 

Morgan froze for a moment. "No, that was back in college. Why?" 

"You might want to talk to him, just so he has some idea of what to avoid," Hotch said gently. "I don't mean details, necessarily," he added as Morgan tensed, bowing his head. "But if there's anything in particular that's a problem for you, you might want to let him know." 

Breathing too shallow, each inhale choppy and rapid, Morgan glanced up. 

Hotch met his gaze squarely, compassion in eyes. "He has his own demons. You know that, you've been helping him with them. Let him help you fight yours." 

Morgan closed his eyes, visibly trying to steady himself, before nodding slightly. "Can...can we shelve this topic?" 

Hotch nodded; he'd pushed as far as he was going to get. Better not to risk pushing too hard. "We should probably be getting back to the station anyways. I'm kind of surprised Gideon didn't call." 

That startled a laugh out of Morgan. "Not likely. Unless we have another case, of course." 

"Oh?" 

"Reid's stalling the locals." 

Hotch groaned, shaking his head. Images of Reid in excited lecture-mode flitted through his mind, sending a shiver down his spine. "They'll never forgive him for that..." 

"So? Ask him what the odds are we'll have to come back here." 

"The two of you are...I have no words." Hotch shook his head in bewildered amusement. 

Morgan just laughed. "You wouldn't have us any other way." 

"That's the truth."


	21. Innocence Lost in Thought

Warmth. 

The throbbing of a heartbeat, skin cool and smooth beneath his hand, rising and falling with another's slow breath of sleep. 

Muffled laughter, people walking down the hall, birds chirping outside. The distant hum of traffic on the freeway. 

The dim halflight of the sun peeking around the heavy curtains, casting the bland hotel room into a shadowy grey-washed cocoon. 

Scent of detergent. Of soap and sweat and musk and cologne. 

Morgan. 

Body still weighted with exhaustion, Reid carefully propped himself on one elbow, trying not to disturb his bedmate. The mattress shifted beneath him as he turned to his side, making his breath catch. 

Nothing. Morgan didn't stir. 

Reid sighed in relief. 

What would it be like? he wondered, raising his hand from its resting place on Morgan's back, delicately tracing lines of muscle, lines of ink. 

What would it be like to have the right to this, instead of stealing moments between sleep and wakefulness? To have Morgan in his bed, in his life out of love and not need? 

To be able to touch without fear of being caught? To - dare he even think such a thing - taste? 

Was he any better than Carl? 

Pain and grief and anger spiked through him, knotting his stomach, freezing his hand over Morgan's shoulderblade. 

Carl only cared for himself. 

It's different between us, Reid told himself, shoving the guilt and loathing away. 

What would it be like, if Morgan touched him?


	22. Chapter 22

_Reid,_ Morgan's subconscious whispered to him as he dozed, half asleep, strangely aware of the intense attention being paid him. 

Gentle fingers ghosted over his back, redrawing his tattoos in tingling sensation. 

He could feel the longing, the hesitance in Reid's touch, in his gaze. 

Then the sharp stab of guilt and self-loathing, the questioning and comparing, dragging him from the edge of sleep. 

Some days his gift of empathy was a curse, and usually at the worst possible times. 

The darker emotions fled, locked away, the burn of hatred and rage banked for another, a better, opportunity, to be drowned once more in sadness. 

Morgan couldn't leave Reid like that, let those raw emotions fester, any more than he could stand the brand of Reid's fingers where they rested atop the blade of shoulder. 

"Reid," he rasped, voice rough with sleep and muffled by the pillow held close. 

An unnatural stillness, a faint catch of breath, the sudden tang of fear. Then motion, Reid moving away. 

Dredging up the energy to rotate his neck, turning towards the window, and Reid, Morgan sighed. "You're thinking too loud." 

"I," Reid stammered, barely over a whisper. He sounded as if he were about to cry. "I'm s-sorry, I-" 

Morgan sighed again. "Can I make this easy on you?" 

Reid gulped, eyes wide, body drawn up into a half-sitting position ready to flee. "I-I...wha, what are, um." Words failed him. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Morgan rumbled, suppressing a laugh. _Start with the biggest piece,_ he told himself. "You're not Carl." 

Color blossomed on Reid's face, turning him a painful shade of red. 

"We'll talk more later, but yes, I..." Morgan wasn't ready to face some things. What Carl had done wasn't the only bridge he still needed to cross. "...care about you. I want you. I'm not making love to you for the first time in a cheap hotel room, especially when we're both exhausted. You have every right to touch me however you want. I know you won't hurt me." He paused, watching Reid's posture straighten, the muscles tensed for flight relaxing, watching the fear and guilt fade, to be replaced by dawning hope and... "Just don't spoon up behind me," Morgan added, avoiding. 

Blinking, Reid nodded. "I, I won't, I mean, I-" 

"Reid." Exasperated. 

"Um. Thinking too loud?" 

"C'mere." Morgan slid his left hand closer to Reid in invitation. 

Moving slowly, as if he were trying not to startle a dangerous predator, Reid crept towards Morgan. 

Morgan waited, watching through half-closed eyes until Reid crawled closer, then reached out and snagged him around the waist. 

Reid let out a startled yelp, struggling weakly, instinctive and half-hearted, but was helpless as Morgan pulled him closer and pinned him half beneath Morgan's body. 

Peering down at his prize, Morgan smiled. "Did I miss anything?" 

Looking rather shell-shocked, Reid swallowed. "Um, no?" 

"Good." Morgan leaned down, kissing Reid softly, chastely, before settling down half beside him. "Now go to sleep." 

Reid touched his lips with the hand not trapped beneath Morgan's body. "Y-you...you said..." 

"I'm not making love to you. Didn't say anything about not kissing you. Now go to **sleep."** There was fond exasperation thick in his voice, growing fatigue and patience wearing thin. 

"O-okay," Reid answered in a small voice, finally letting muscles tensed in his abortive fight for freedom relax, sinking back into the mattress. 

Morgan felt Reid's heartbeat calm beneath thin skin, felt lips pressed to his shoulder, the quick, wet swipe of tongue, the hot rush of breath over his collarbone. Then a handful of choked words, the salt-scent of tears, and nothing.


	23. Intuition in Sight

Gideon absentmindedly contemplated the chessboard in front of him, rubbing his wrist with the opposite hand. Most of his attention was on Reid, fidgeting in the seat across from him. 

Reid gripped the seat with both hands, then clasped one elbow with his other arm, then folded his hands on the edge of the table. Every few moments, his gaze would flicker to Gideon’s right, where Morgan was curled up in the corner by the tiny galley with a book and his headphones. 

Deciding on his move, Gideon hovered one hand over a bishop. “You know, Morgan probably wouldn’t mind if you curled up with him on the couch. You look like you could use some more sleep,” he added, giving Reid an excuse. It wasn’t a lie; Reid had deep circles beneath his eyes, shadows of blue and black exhaustion written in his skin. 

Reid’s response was unexpected; he ducked his head and blushed, one hand scratching at the nape of his neck. “Th-that wouldn’t, um. Wouldn’t really help.” He glanced furtively around the cabin, sighing in relief when he realized both Emily and JJ were asleep. 

“Oh?” 

Swallowing, Reid shook his head, cheeks turning a deeper red. He sat on his hands. 

“Is it the more sleep that wouldn’t help, or being near Morgan?” Gideon kept his eyes on the chessboard, moving the bishop to take one of Reid’s pawns. “Your move.” 

Practically squirming in his seat, Reid couldn’t answer. 

Gideon looked up at him and smiled, warmth and understanding in his eyes. “Then your stalemate is broken? Good. I’m glad.” 

Reid looked up at him blankly. 

“The two of you have been seeking each other out for comfort and companionship for over a month. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” he asked gently. 

“Isn’t--I thought, I...” Reid broke off in confusion, shaking his head, then gave a small squeak of startlement as Hotch slid onto the empty seat beside him. “N-nothing’s happened,” he whispered. 

“Of course not,” Hotch said softly. “Morgan’s not about to let it happen away from home.” He shrugged. 

“B-but--” 

“Spencer.” Gideon’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Neither of you would have taken the next step without having thought through the consequences. You’re good for each other, and as long as that continues, I have no complaints.” 

Reid gulped, glancing nervously between Gideon and Hotch. Unable to find words, he licked his lips. 

Hotch smiled, tilting his head towards Gideon. “I just wanted you to know that you, and Morgan, have both of our support.” Reaching out, he rested a hand on Reid’s shoulder. “If you need to talk, about anything, my door’s always open to you.” 

“And mine,” Gideon added, nodding to Hotch as the younger man slid off the seat and backed up. 

Reid blinked in confusion, visibly trying to calm his racing heart. “Th-thanks, I think.” 

“Finish your game, we’ll be landing pretty soon,” Hotch said, turning to retake his customary seat in the corner. 

Reid took one last glance behind Gideon, this time not trying to hide the wistful, longing look on his face before turning back to the chessboard with a sigh. 

Gideon could only smile and hope.


	24. Intentional Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occurs two days after Intuition in Sight.

"Reid?" 

Startled, Reid jerked back in his chair, spinning around halfway to face Hotch with wide, dazed eyes. 

"Hey, didn't mean to scare you." 

"N-no, I, I'm just distracted. Sorry." Reid swallowed, brushing a wayward strand of hair out of his face. His eyes narrowed at Hotch's appearance; sure, it was pretty late on a Friday, but Hotch had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Even his tie was loose. 

"I would have thought you'd be gone by now. Morgan left over an hour ago." Hotch glanced at the clock. "Almost two, actually." 

Reid dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling his ears burn. 

"Big date tonight?" Hotch's voice was quiet, to avoid being overheard. Not that there were many people left in the office, and none near them. 

"Y-yeah, we, we're having d-dinner at his house," Reid whispered, still not meeting Hotch's eyes. 

Hotch nodded slowly. 

Watching his boss mull over that, Reid could only wait, fidgeting anxiously in his seat. 

"Nervous?" 

"Wouldn't you be?!" Reid blurted. "It, it's my first date, and, and..." He shook his head. "It's not, not really even that, we've b-been--" 

"You've been dating for almost a month, you just know what's going on now," Hotch finished for him. 

Nodding helplessly, Reid spread his hands in confusion. 

"Would you like some advice?" 

Reid blinked. "Ad-advice? About what?" 

Hotch shrugged, smiling softly. "Anything you want to ask." 

Breath caught in Reid's throat and he could feel himself turning a painful shade of red again. 

Chuckling, Hotch reached down and tugged Reid up and out of the chair by one arm. "Come on, let's go talk in the conference room, okay?" 

Once behind the dubious protection of a closed door, Reid paced his way around the room, giving into nerves racing with fear and anticipation. "I, I feel like, like I should b-be back in high school, or something," he said, arms crossed over his chest. 

"You missed a few steps growing up. Derek knows that, probably better than you do." Hotch took a seat by the door. 

"But--" 

"Spencer," Hotch cut in, "you and Derek have known each other for years. There's no pressure, no expectations. You're more comfortable with each other than with anyone else I know. Use that." 

"I just, just d-don't want to..." Spencer stopped, turning to rub the edge of the table with one hand. 

"Don't want to what?" Hotch asked. 

Spencer looked up at him finally, worry and apprehension in his eyes. "Hurt him." 

"You have two huge advantages there." 

Spencer frowned, waiting. 

"You've been taking care of him when he's the most vulnerable. You know what he looks and sounds like when he's afraid. You can tell the difference between what he's telling you verbally, and what his body's ready for." 

"And?" Spencer swallowed, not wanting to think of those nights. 

Hotch leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on the table. "Derek trusts you." 

"But, but, that's not, he--" Shaking his head, Spencer blinked hard, holding back tears. He knew Derek trusted him; without it, they wouldn't have gotten anywhere. 

"He trusts me to a point. More than most, but I realize that what I had to do to defend him in Chicago damaged the trust he had in me. You, he trusts unconditionally." 

"I j-just don't want to hurt him," Spencer said again, his voice painfully weak. 

"Are you planning on staying at his house over the weekend?" 

Spencer's blush answered for him. 

"Just a suggestion, but you'd probably be better off avoiding penetration for the time being. Both of you." 

Face burning, Spencer fervently wished the floor would open up beneath his feet and swallow him. 

"Spencer?" 

Swallowing past his embarrassment, Spencer glanced back at Hotch. "How, how can you--" _stand to talk to me like this?_ he couldn't finish. 

"I have two sons I love dearly. I'm not short-changing one just because he's adopted." 

Spencer spun around to face Hotch and froze, blood draining from his face. 

Hotch looked entirely serious, eyes dark and laser-focused, hands open in supplication. 

They'd never spoken of it, let everything be said in notes, in small gestures, smiles, a pat on the shoulder. It had only been a few weeks since that first morning Spencer'd called Hotch 'Mom', and not even that long since Mother's Day, but they'd never talked about it, and Hotch hadn't, hadn't... 

Hotch was acknowledging how Spencer felt. 

Accepting him. 

And not just returning it, but taking an active role. 

Sniffling, Spencer scrubbed at tear-filled eyes. 

"Spencer?" 

"I, uh." He stopped, swallowed, tried again. "I'm okay." 

Hotch nodded, one corner of his mouth quirking in a lopsided smile. "You've probably done more research on the subject than I want to know about, but," and he paused to let Spencer laugh weakly, his cheeks pink again, "if you have questions, or problems, or if Derek panics and you need help, please don't hesitate to call." 

Spencer nodded, knowing he wouldn't do anything of the sort. 

"Spencer." Hotch's tone was warning. 

"Okay, okay, I'll call." Spencer huffed indignantly. _Sometimes this parent thing can go too far,_ he thought to himself, chagrined. 

"Good." Tilting his head a little in consideration, Hotch looked Spencer up and down. "Please tell me you're not wearing that?" 

"What, this?" Spencer started a little at the sudden change in subject, looking down at his usual work attire. "Um, no, I brought a change of clothes. Why, are you going to make me pass inspection before I can leave?" 

Hotch laughed. "I wouldn't go that far, but that's not exactly a date outfit." 

Spencer snorted. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't wear this because I like it. I wear it because I got sick of people looking at me like I'd grown another head when I start explaining stuff. At least when I look like a nerd..." He trailed off and shrugged. 

"You get treated like a nerd." Hotch sighed and shook his head. "Stereotypes." 

"If you can't beat 'em, use 'em." 

"If you have to." Hotch nodded. "Question." 

Spencer nodded. "You want to know why I didn't doubt your ability to answer my questions." Color flooded his cheeks again, but he refused to give into the embarrassment. 

Hotch's eyebrows twitched. "Yes." 

"I...uh. I went to get a can of soda from the machine a while back and saw Gideon getting ice. He was..." Spencer swallowed. 

"He was what?" 

"He was wearing your shirt." Spencer shrugged, hugging himself again, uncertain of Hotch's reaction. 

Hotch didn't answer for a long moment. 

Unable to stand the silence, Spencer continued. "I, I didn't think it, it was something either of you wanted the rest of the t-team to know, and, and it's not, not really any of my--" 

"I'm not mad," Hotch said, breaking the near-frantic flow of words. 

"Um." 

"You're right, it's not something Gideon or I want the rest of the team to know. I think Derek would understand, but I'd rather he found out for himself."

Spencer shrugged again. "You might let him find out on purpose; I don't think he'd make a big deal out of it, but I don't know that he'd be as...um. Expectant? of it as I was. I mean," he added at Hotch's small smile, "it wasn't really a surprise to me. I can't imagine you'd be able to work effectively if you were cheating on Haley, so she has to know and accept it or something. And even if I'm wrong, it's not any of my business." He glanced down at the table then, at his hands nervously twisting together. "Besides...you got kind of...hard to work with after Gideon went on leave. I didn't...consciously...put the pieces together until after I saw Gideon, and by then it was...kind of comforting, if it's okay for me to say so." 

Hotch laughed once. "Yeah, it's okay for you to say so. It's even okay for you to say I was a real pain to work with when he was away. It's not something I'm proud of, but..." He sighed. 

"He balances you out. You start shutting down without it." 

"That's about as good a description as I've heard." Hotch smiled then. "Listen, are you going to be okay?" 

Smiling, Spencer nodded. "I'll be fine, I think." He slowly made his way back around the table as Hotch got to his feet. 

"Good. It's getting late, you should change and get out of here before Derek thinks you stood him up." The twinkle in Hotch's eye betrayed him, and Spencer could only laugh. 

"You just want to make me pass some kind of date inspection," Spencer teased back, clasping Hotch's outstretched hand, then moving in closer. He could feel Hotch's sigh of relief gust across his neck as his embrace was returned. "Thanks, Mom." 

"Any time."


	25. A Private World

"-- so I should be there in about twenty minutes." 

Derek smiled. "Dinner will be waiting." 

"Dinner's a bonus. I just want _you."_

Derek's heart clenched in his chest. For a long moment, he was silent, listening to his own suddenly ragged breathing and the faded sounds of evening traffic over the cell phone. "I miss you." 

"Soon. And you can have me," there was a laugh of rueful amusement in Spencer's voice, "all weekend." 

A soft hum of anticipation and arousal had set in long before; the promise and affection, and yes, love, in that quiet declaration ratcheted it up a notch. "Spencer?" 

"Mmhmm?" 

"When you get here? Don't bother knocking. Just come on in." 

Spencer laughed. "As you wish." 

After an achingly reluctant goodbye, Derek put the phone back on its cradle, turning to make sure everything was ready, double- and triple-checking. Salad staying crisp and cold in the refrigerator, dessert chilling on the shelf below them. Bread and steaks, sweet potatoes and roasted vegetables warm in the oven, sauce in the covered pan on the stove. Table set, cream-colored tablecloth, wine glasses, bottle in an ice bucket on the breakfront. Small, elegant bouquets of orchids and other flowers he hadn't bothered to learn the names of. Soft jazz playing in the background, CD changer on shuffle. And candles. 

There was nothing left to do but wait. Nervous energy drove him back to the kitchen, candles flickering in the breeze caused by his passing. 

A glance at the clock showed twelve minutes had passed since he'd hung up the phone. 

Spencer would be home soon. 

_No,_ Derek thought to himself, _Spencer is home **now.** This is just where I live. _


	26. Intimate Knowledge

Spencer pulled into the driveway, a frisson of nervous anticipation shivering up his spine. Dusk was spreading its mantle of blue and violet across the sky, the sun a shrinking sliver of deep red on the horizon. Long shadows painted stripes across manicured lawns and pavement alike, making Spencer squint and watch his step as he made his way over the handsome brickwork walkway to the porch. 

_"Don't bother knocking. Just come on in."_

Derek's words echoed through his mind, drowning out Clooney barking at him from Derek's backyard and the children playing tag around the cul-de-sac. 

_"Just come on in."_

Spencer swallowed, his hand on the knob, pausing to try and still the fluttering in his stomach. A glance across the porch revealed nothing but softly glowing windows, baskets of flowers hanging from the porch roof and a pair of matching wicker chairs. 

Spencer's loafers made small ticks against the hardwood floor as he stepped inside. He turned, the door still open and half forgotten, knob clutched in his hand. 

Candles. 

They were everywhere, in small spherical glass holders, in cast iron brackets, freestanding in thick cream and white pillars, some wrapped in flowers or greenery. They were on the window sills, on the breakfront, the end tables, on the rails supporting the banister leading to the second floor. 

Breeze from the open door made the flames flicker, bringing the scents of sandalwood and cinnamon, musk and cedar to his nose, subtle and comforting. A gust of wind nearly tore the doorknob from Spencer's grip, and he absentmindedly closed it, swallowing again against the mouth-watering aromas of steak and fresh bread and something sweet but unidentifiable drifting in from the kitchen. 

"Spencer." 

Spencer turned to find Derek approaching from behind the stairwell. 

Silence stretched between them, not quite uncomfortable, as Derek closed the distance. Finally Derek stopped, well within Spencer's personal space. 

Unable to look away, Spencer licked his lips and waited, heart in his throat. Please... 

Derek came closer still, raising one hand to cup Spencer's jaw, tilt Spencer's head as he leaned in for a kiss. 

Spencer's gasp was swallowed as Derek's mouth covered his, his hands fluttering at Derek's waist. Sensations washed over him: the minty bite of mouthwash, rich chocolate and something deeper; the scents of cologne and soap and Derek Spencer would never be able to forget; silk and denim beneath his fingers, warmed by the heat of the muscular body beneath. There was blackness, pleasure like exploding lights behind his closed eyelids, soft jazz familiar and soothing in his ears. 

Out of breath, Spencer broke the kiss, burrowing into the hollow of Derek's throat as he panted. 

"Welcome home." 

The phrase startled a weak chuckle from Spencer, and he straightened, ears burning with shy embarrassment. "You, you d-didn't have to--" 

"Spencer," Derek shushed him gently. "I wanted to. Besides," he added as a wide, vaguely satisfied smile spread across his face, "you're worth it." 

Spencer blushed, color spilling from his ears to his cheeks. Ignoring his discomfiture, he leaned forward, wanting another kiss. 

Derek covered Spencer's parted lips with one finger, smiling wickedly as the digit was licked. "Later, Spence, we have all night," and his voice deepened, growing husky with desire and anticipation. "Dinner first." He dropped his hand, turning and resting it at the small of Spencer's back to guide him towards the dining room table. 

Unsure of the proper etiquette, Spencer sat down, idly fingering the edge of the tablecloth while Derek detoured to the kitchen. A moment later he was blinking, glancing between Derek, seated opposite him, and the salad of mixed wild greens and baby spinach. 

"What?" Derek asked laughingly, nudging the small glass carafe of vinaigrette dressing towards him. There were whole raspberries in the bottom, and pulp turning the normally pale liquid a rich pink. 

"You can't cook," Spencer blurted, then backtracked, hurrying to try and explain. "I mean, your mother told me--" 

"About the time I set the kitchen on fire?" 

Spencer coughed. "Um, well." 

"That was twelve years ago. And, well," Derek smiled, "I'm happy living off of takeout and tv dinners, but there are some things worth learning for." 

_And someday I'll get you to believe that,_ Spencer heard. It was something he'd heard before, from Hotch and Gideon and a handful of professors who'd actually taken an interest in him, but for once, he thought maybe, just maybe, that unspoken promise wouldn't be in vain. 

"Spencer, eat." Derek's tone was gently chiding. "I promise I'll work it all off of you later." 

Beet red and tongue-tied, Spencer applied himself to his meal, all too aware of himself, and Derek half-smirking at him across the table. 

For once, Spencer didn't feel threatened by the silence, and dedicated himself to enjoying dinner in a mostly futile attempt to distract himself from 'later'. He took the opportunity to toe off his loafers, using the carpet to remove his lovingly mismatched black socks, and barely suppressed a startled squeak at the nudge of another bare foot sliding over his arch and along his ankle. Finally, halfway through his dinner, Spencer paused and looked up, confusion written on his face. 

"Spence?" 

He shook his head. "I...I feel like we should be talking about, I don't know, anything, but..." 

Derek smiled encouragingly and raised an eyebrow. "But?" 

Spencer shrugged. "It feels like I already know the important things, and everything else is just trivial." 

Derek nodded. "Don't you? We've worked together for years. You're right, we do know the big things about each other. And there's time enough to learn the rest. That's how it happens sometimes." 

Spencer couldn't help but look dubious. 

"Hey," and Derek covered one of Spencer's hands with his own; Spencer's knife clattered to the plate. "If you're comfortable enough to sit here and enjoy my company, I'm glad. You're not doing anything wrong." 

Spencer nodded, finally picking up his knife and using it to shift some of the artichoke and mushroom sauce atop the piece of steak he'd been in the middle of. Before he could eat it, though, he glanced up. "Just one thing I do have to ask." 

"Mmhmm?" There was no mistaking Derek's amusement. 

"How'd you go from pizza on speed dial to making this?" Spencer took the bite, as much to keep himself from babbling as anything else. 

"I knew you were going to ask that." 

"And?" 

"I took a few lessons." 

Something clicked. "Wait--that was weeks ago! We weren't even..." 

"Spencer, I've wanted you for a long time, I just never allowed myself to think about it, not until..." Derek took a deep breath. "After Albany," he finished. "Even if we hadn't ended up here, being able to cook a steak isn't a waste." 

"Definitely not if you can cook it like this," Spencer said, taking another bite. 

Derek laughed, nodding acknowledgment of the compliment. 

_Hotch was right,_ Spencer thought to himself. _We are more comfortable with each other. Defending myself with words and knowledge isn't necessary._

The rest of dinner passed in silence, only to be broken when Derek started to clear the table. 

"Let me help," Spencer insisted, picking up his empty plate. 

"Spence--" 

"You cooked, at least let me help clear." 

Holding up his free hand in surrender, Derek laughed. "All right, all right, you can help clear." 

"Besides," Spencer continued as he followed Derek into the kitchen, "with both of us clearing, we get to 'later' sooner." 

"Oh, I see - ulterior motive." Derek set his plates and silverware on the counter, then took Spencer's and did the same. "Close your eyes." 

"Um? Okay..." 

Spencer heard the refrigerator open, felt the cold air spill out over his bare feet. A chill shivered up his spine. Then his hand was in Derek's, being curled around the stem of a wine glass. Once Spencer firmed his grip, Derek let go and closed the refrigerator with a soft *whumph*. 

"You can open your eyes now." 

Spencer did, looking first at Derek, then down at the glass in his hand. 

Chocolate mousse, rich and sweet and topped with a cloud of whipped cream. 

For a moment, Spencer was catapulted into a sense memory. Mint. Chocolate. Derek. He shook his head, bringing himself back to the here and now. "Snitch." 

Derek laughed. "I had to make sure they came out okay." 

Snorting delicately in response, Spencer ignored the obvious verbal response and swiped a finger through the topping, licking the digit clean. 

"Would you like a spoon?" Derek asked, his voice rough with amusement and arousal. 

"Hmm." Spencer tilted his head, considering, his forefinger still in his mouth. Pulling it out with a wet _pop,_ he curled it back into the glass. "I don't think we need a spoon," he said, offering Derek a fingerful of mousse and whipped cream. "Do you?"


	27. Love in the World

"Hello?" 

"Hi, Mom," Derek said, stretching his free arm along the back of the couch. 

Half-listening to the unintelligible murmurs from Derek's cellphone, Spencer took the opportunity to get closer, curling next to Derek and delicately tracing the muscles in his lover's chest with one finger. 

Caught up in idle smalltalk, Derek caught Spencer's hand before he could cause trouble, kissed the offending digit and laced their fingers together. 

Then, after Derek had caught up with the news in Chicago, "Listen, Mom, I wanted to call and tell you that...I'm seeing someone." 

"Seriously?" Fran sounded guardedly excited. 

Derek laughed. "Yeah, Mom, I wouldn't be telling you if I was on a first date or something." 

"Does your team know?" 

"Mom, if I didn't know better, I'd say they were matchmaking," he replied, rueful amusement heavy in his voice. He felt Spencer smile against his shoulder. 

"Someone on the team then." There was a pause; Derek could hear the thoughts flying through her head. "Please tell me it's not Agent Prentiss." 

"Emily?" Surprised and somewhat dismayed, Derek blurted the name before he could stop himself. "Why?" 

Spencer stiffened and looked up in confusion at the mention; Derek shook his head and soothed him silently, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

"You know I hate talking poorly of other people, particularly those you work with, but she didn't seem to be sure of her place, and determined to make one at whatever cost," Fran explained. "She..." There was a heavy sigh. "She pulled rank on poor Dr. Reid." 

"What?!" Derek leaned forward suddenly, nearly dumping Spencer on the floor. His eyes darkened with anger, muscles tensed for battle. "When was this?" 

"When they were here trying to clear you." 

Derek couldn't answer, too busy trying to slow his breathing, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Emily wasn't playing fair with Spencer. Too busy crushing Spencer to him in an almost painful one-armed embrace, grateful that Spencer didn't protest and only pressed closer, turning his head to listen to the rapid beat of Derek's heart. 

"Derek?" 

"Mmhmm." The affirmative was growled amid harsh, choppy breathing. 

"You're seeing him, aren't you? Dr. Reid?" 

Derek could have cried at the gentle acceptance in her voice. Swallowing hard, he shoved the anger away, silently promising himself, promising Reid, that he'd take care of Emily later. "Yeah, Mom." The words trembled, his voice cracked. 

"Do you love him?" 

"More than I thought possible," Derek said on a pleased sigh, sinking back into the sofa cushions. 

"Does he treat you well?" 

"I don't deserve him." 

"Yes, you do," Fran insisted. 

"You deserve better," Spencer whispered into Derek's chest, causing a shiver and the tightening of Derek's hand in his hair. 

Derek couldn't answer either of them, and sat in achingly comfortable silence for a long moment, Spencer curled on his lap. 

Then, "Mom?" 

"What is it, dear?" There was loving warmth in her voice audible even to Spencer. 

"You don't seem surprised." 

A low, amused laugh answered him. "Derek, I can hardly get a word in and ask about anyone on your team aside from Spencer." 

Derek groaned, mortified. 

"And," Fran went on hesitantly, "I remember Stephen, and the way you talked about him as a teenager. I didn't know why you stopped...I'd hoped you would talk to me, but I guess I thought you didn't like that part of yourself." 

Breath caught in his throat, Derek swallowed. 

"I'm sorry, I should have seen, should have known, something. That's something I'll--" 

"Mom," Derek cut her off. "Mom, I'm okay. It's not your fault, I never wanted you to know. I never wanted anyone to know." He could sense his mother nodding. 

"Forgive me for asking, but...Is Spencer helping?" 

"He's amazing, Mom, really. I can't...He's everything I ever wanted, and a lot of things I never knew I needed." Derek could feel the heat of Spencer's blush against his chest. 

"Good."


	28. Generous in Spirit

"Does Aaron know where you are?" Jason asked, maintaining eye contact as he took a sip of his coffee. 

Haley smiled. "Yes, he does. He also," she went on, raising an eyebrow and forestalling Jason's next question, "knows who I'm with, and why." 

"And that would be...?" 

"You seem to think I object to your relationship with him." Actually, Haley didn't know what Jason thought of her opinion on the matter, but the time had long passed for them to have this discussion. She owed Aaron that much. 

Jason's eyebrows drew together in a frown of confusion. "Shouldn't you?" 

Lips pursing in a twisted smile, Haley shook her head. "I love him, Jason. Part of that is understanding that I can't give him everything he needs, no matter how much I want to." She paused then to take a sip of her own coffee, peppermint-scented steam floating upward in swirls. "Marriage isn't about monogamy. It's about trust - I trust him to be responsible, to protect Jack and myself from more than just the evil he faces out there with you and his team. I trust him to tell me what he can, to tell me if he needs more from me, or if he needs things I can't offer him." 

Jason didn't respond for several minutes, nursing his coffee and studying Haley. 

Knowing Jason was profiling her, trying to determine how much of what she'd said was the truth, Haley held her peace, bathing her face in curls of steam between swallows of sweet, minty coffee. 

Finally, Jason sighed, tilting his head. "That's very accepting of you." 

"I remember what Aaron was like when you left, after Boston." Haley paused, lips thinning to white, uncertain. "When you left, the man I married started slipping away. Before, I only knew in theory what you did for him. I still don't know, and don't want to know, any particulars, but don't ever think you don't give him something necessary. For all of us." 

"Oh?" 

Haley nodded, eyes going flat, hard. "If you and Aaron ever decide to...back off," she decided after a momentary search for an appropriate term, "it had better be because it's what both of you want, and not be because of me, or Jack. Don't even let me think that." 

Jason chuckled silently, laughter trapped in his chest. "Is that a threat?" 

"That's a promise."


	29. Logical Discourse

"--and that would be Morgan," Hotch interrupted himself at the familiar knock at the door. 

Gideon nodded at Hotch's questioning glance. 

"At least it doesn't sound like an emergency," Hotch muttered as he got to his feet. 

"I'm not sure what an emergency would be, now, since he's got Reid's room key," Gideon answered wryly. 

"True." He opened the door. 

"You busy? I need to talk to you and Gideon..." Morgan didn't quite explain. 

Hotch nodded, backing up and letting him into the room, then shutting the door. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I didn't want to have this discussion back at headquarters, or somewhere the rest of the team could overhear." 

Gideon nodded, watching intently. 

"What seems to be the problem?" Hotch asked, wishing he hadn't yet changed to his undershirt and sweats. Morgan might feel comfortable talking business barefoot, in t-shirt and ratty jeans, but Hotch liked a little more psychological armor. 

"I don't know if it's relevant anymore, but Emily's been..." Morgan stopped, biting his lower lip viciously, seeming unwilling to continue. 

"She's been trying to make herself a place on the team over Reid," Gideon finished, putting just enough questioning in his voice. 

Morgan nodded slowly, eyes dark with suppressed anger. "I called my mom and told her about Spencer Saturday. She told me that Emily pulled rank on him when we were in Chicago." _Trying to clear my name,_ he didn't add, and didn't need to. "I can take her attitude, but Spencer can't. Or won't." 

"I don't want to sit down and talk with her about it unless it becomes more of a problem, but I have noticed, and I'm taking it into account on case assignments. I won't be assigning them as partners unless I don't have any other choice." 

Nodding, Morgan relaxed somewhat. "Thanks," he said simply, glancing from Hotch to Gideon, and then, after Gideon nodded in agreement, around the room. 

"Was there anything else?" Hotch prompted, watching the blinked double-take, hearing the gears whir in Morgan's head. While Gideon often came to Hotch's room to discuss a case, there was no reason for his luggage to be there, too. Not when they had separate rooms.

Morgan looked back at him in askance. "I don't mean to pry, and it really is none of my business, but does Haley--"

"Haley knows. You want to call her and ask?" Hotch offered, a wry smile turning up one corner of his mouth. 

Eyes wide in surprise, Morgan rocked back on his heels. "Okay," he answered slowly. "Wasn't expecting that, but hey..." 

"It's not something we want publicized," Gideon added. 

Morgan nodded. "Understood. I never saw a thing." He paused. "I don't think it would surprise Spencer, but your secret's safe with me." 

Gideon smiled. "All things considered, I don't think it would surprise him at all." 

Remembering Spencer's penchant for calling him 'Mom', Hotch's shoulders shook in silent laughter, glancing at Gideon in silent understanding. "Spencer already knows," he said once he'd regained his composure.

"You didn't tell me," Gideon accused gently, amused.

"Did I need to?"

Gideon cocked his head. "I suppose not." He turned back to Morgan. "Was that all?"

Morgan nodded. "That's all I wanted to ask about. Good night, Gideon, Hotch," he added, turning for the door. 

"Good night, Morgan."


	30. To Rescue Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene at the end of Revelations.

Reid knelt carefully next to Tobias' body, swallowing a whimper at the pain in his injured feet. As he fished through Tobias' pocket, he could feel someone watching him, a presence hovering at a distance as the rest of the police and FBI officers faded back into the woods. 

Waiting. 

The glint of moonlight on glass, warped oddly through the curve of vial and clear fluid within, caught Reid's eye. Then, stricken at the fear of discovery, he glanced up, meeting Morgan's gaze across the clearing. 

Reid's face twisted into a grimace of pain and pleading. 'Please,' he thought, choking on humiliation, 'please, I need--not taking it to **take,** but--' 

Morgan tilted his head once, heart in his eyes. 

Loving. 

Supporting. 

Understanding. 

Reid shuddered, slipping the vials into his pocket and less-than-carefully getting to his feet; he swayed, biting his lip and hopping as he waited out the pain. 

Morgan pulled his earpiece off, let it dangle from its cord. It bumped against his shoulder, forgotten as he held out one hand to Reid in invitation. 

Half limping, half hopping, arms askew for balance, Reid made his way across the cemetery grounds, slowing as he approached. Toes curled instinctively, his injured foot hit the ground wrong, and Reid lurched, almost fell. 

Morgan caught him, taking his lover's weight easily as Reid's cheek slammed into his shoulder, hands scrabbling at back and abdomen, catching on his belt. 

At some point during that brief tangle of bodies, the vials slipped from Reid's pocket to Morgan's, safe from prying eyes.


	31. A World Off Balance

"Easy, I got you," Morgan murmured, letting Reid sort himself out. 

Panting, Reid leaned heavily, holding his injured leg off the ground. "S-sorry," he gasped out, relaxing a little as Morgan pulled him closer. 

"It's okay, we'll do this at your pace, all right?" Relieved that the locals had gone back to their vehicles, that he could afford the care Reid so badly needed, Morgan nuzzled Reid's hair, pressing a kiss to his sweat-slick temple. "It's just me here." Cold fury burned at Reid's attempts to appear smaller; Morgan locked it away. 

A discreet cough made them both stiffen and look around warily to find Hotch watching a ways back in the woods. 

"There's an ambulance waiting," Hotch said softly as he drew near, a curious mix of hatred and understanding on his face at the way Reid cringed, hiding in the shelter of Morgan's arms. 

"No," Reid said immediately, shaking his head and shrinking back against Morgan. "No, please, it's not-not that bad, I--" 

"Reid." Morgan ran a soothing hand over Reid's back; Reid turned, burying his face in Morgan's neck. "Hotch, there's nothing that can't wait 'til we get to the hospital. Broken foot maybe, cuts and bruises." 

"Please no, please no, please no," Reid chanted almost silently into Morgan's throat, finally giving up on words and mouthing at salt-sweet skin. 

Hotch was silent, taking in the way Reid clung to Morgan, the tremors ripping through his body, weighing physical health against mental. Then, one hand covering his earpiece, he spoke. "Gideon, leave one of the vehicles and tell the ambulance to follow. I'll drive us to the hospital." 

Reid sagged in relief, almost overbalancing Morgan. 

"Thanks, man," Morgan said. It was againt protocol, but this was beyond protocol. This was Reid. 

Hotch nodded and came closer. "You're not going to be able to put weight on that foot." He reached out with his left hand, waited for Reid to take it and slide one arm over his shoulder. "You ever try a three-legged race?" 

Morgan snorted, arranging himself under Reid's left arm, wrapping his right around the younger man's waist. "This is the five-legged version." 

"Th-thanks..." Reid managed. 

Hotch nodded curtly, exchanging a look with Morgan over Reid's bowed head, and pointed his flashlight at the ground ahead of them. "Let's get out of here."


	32. Trusting Logic

Hotch let Morgan's half-coaxing, half-soothing murmurs fade to the background with the crickets and other sounds of night, intent only on Reid's condition. 

Each step for Reid - several for Morgan and Hotch, with Reid picking up his less-injured foot to hang suspended between them, arms splayed over their shoulders for support - was jarring, tiny whimpers escaping past clenched teeth. Pain was written in every line of his body, tendons standing out sharply from his neck, muscles drawing tighter across chest and collarbone. 

By the time they'd reached the last row of headstones, Hotch knew Reid wasn't going to make it. Not all the way to the road, not without taking a break and letting the agony currently building ease. He'd pass out first. 

Or shatter. 

And Reid had been pushed too far, been too humiliated by his own weakness, to be expected to admit to more. Or to submit to being carried like an invalid. 

For Reid's sake, Hotch had to let him do what little he could. 

"Morgan," he said quietly, interrupting the steady stream of encouragement. "Over there," and he jerked his chin toward the low stone wall at the cemetery border, now half-crumbling, half covered in moss and ivy. 

Morgan didn't argue, just smoothly changed direction, heading for the wall. 

"Wait, wh-what are...why..." Reid couldn't seem to complete a protesting question, voice thin and cracking with strain. 

"I want to look at your feet," Hotch explained, taking Reid's weight so Morgan could settle on the wall. 

"C'mere." Morgan held out his arms, easily lifting Reid off his feet and into his lap as Hotch steadied them both, then nodded. 

Turning aside momentarily, Hotch set the flashlight down, then ripped at the fastenings of his kevlar jacket, stripping it swiftly and laying it on the rough stone. The tie followed, unknotted to slide through his collar with a slick, sheering sound, then his shirt, each button flicked open with brutal efficiency. 

"Never let it be said that Hotch wouldn't give you the shirt off his back," Morgan said, tone devoid of amusement; he pulled Reid back against him, hands spread against Reid's abdomen, lips pressed into the curve of neck and shoulder. 

Paying close attention to Reid's choppy breathing, too shallow, too rapid, Hotch pulled a Swiss army knife from his pocket and snapped it open, making quick work of the shirt's seams. Putting aside the now-shirtless sleeves, Hotch tore the rest into long strips, pale blue threads hanging down like cobwebs. 

Reid turned glazed, glassy eyes on Hotch as he knelt down, wedging the flashlight between two rocks. 

"Let me see your foot." 

Unsuccessfully trying to suppress a whimper, Reid slowly extended his leg. 

Hotch tried to ignore Reid's flinch, kept the hand at the back of Reid's ankle steady as he ran gentle fingers over the top of Reid's bruised foot. Blue and violet shadows discolored the slightly swollen arch. Morgan had been right; Reid probably had a broken foot, and was probably looking at surgery to put the tiny bones back in place. Hotch didn't dare try and examine the sole, but a line traced from heel to toe with his thumb made Reid squirm and swallow hard. Hypersensitive. 

"Do-don't..." Reid gasped above him. 

"I'm not going to tickle," Hotch assured him, reaching out to snag his tie, too intent on his task to look up. The strip of silk felt cool where it fell across his arm, and he turned the inside against the sole of Reid's foot, wide end at his toes. Denim brushed his wrist, Morgan bringing his leg up to offer support so Hotch could have both hands free. "Thanks." He bound Reid's foot, wrapping the narrow part around the ankle, then back down around the length of the foot and tucking the end underneath. "Too tight?" 

"N-no." 

Hotch nodded, grabbing one of the shirtsleeves and easing it over the tie-wrapped foot like an odd, oversized sock. Once on, the cuff-end was folded over and tied in place with a piece of Hotch's shirt, and a second at the ankle. Hotch sighed, eyeing his handiwork critically. "Ok, other foot." 

"Hotch, there's no way this is the first time you've done this," Morgan said as they shifted position. 

Glancing up momentarily from sleeving Reid's less-injured foot, Hotch shrugged. "There was a big piece of coral or rock that washed up in the shallows one year. I lost a few shirts and ties helping some of the kids who got their feet cut up on it before the city had it removed." 

"Th-thanks, it, it helps," Reid managed, drawing the last s out in a hiss as Hotch tied off the ankle and stood. 

"It won't give you a lot of support, obviously, but it'll help keep you from cutting your feet up, and blunt the sensitivity." Hotch turned and picked up his vest, slipping it on, hands automatically fastening the closings over his undershirt. The remains of his shirt were tied in a slipknot, then balled up and shoved in a pocket. "You ready to get out of here?" he asked, Reid's breathing finally slowed to an acceptable rate. 

Gulping, Reid nodded, reaching out to lean on Hotch while Morgan got up off the wall. 

"It's okay," Hotch said softly, tucking Reid against him comfortingly as Morgan bent and pried the flashlight from its crevice. The small bulge in Morgan's pocket, just large enough for a couple vials of fluid, caught Hotch's eye in the man's halflit silhouette; he held his tongue. 

They all knew Reid kept talismans of painful episodes, physical proof he'd escaped, proof he'd won. 

Whatever he had to do, whatever they had to do to keep Reid sane, to let him fight his own battles in his own way, they'd do. 

Even if it meant being an accessory to what might become drug abuse. 

Hotch trusted his own instincts. 

Trusted Morgan. 

Trusted Reid. 

Trusted Reid's fear.

It would be enough. 

And if it wasn't...


	33. Breaking the World

Derek stared upward into the gloom, wondering what had woken him. The ceiling was black, save the pools of soft orange light to either side of the bed. Spencer lay heavily beside him, the walking cast on his foot bulky and awkward. 

Spencer's breathing changed, his head turning on the pillow restlessly. "Raph..." His voice trailed off. 

That was why. Not a screaming nightmare. Not one of the warped-reality flashbacks that had driven them together in the beginning, or one of the near-panic attacks that had triggered the use of nightlights, but a quiet reliving of Spencer's suffering at Hankel's hands. 

"...can't...God's image," Spencer whispered. 

Derek listened, straining to understand half mumbled words. 

"...stop...commission..." 

Hoped that what Spencer's sleeping mind was internalizing was a drug-induced hallucination and not truth. 

"...pretend..." 

Spencer never spoke of Raphael, even though he'd indirectly, at least, mentioned Tobias and Charles during his recovery. 

Inhaling sharply, Spencer tensed, head turning toward the far wall so hard Derek felt his own neck and shoulders ache with sympathy. 

Unable to let even subconscious torment continue, Derek carefully rolled over, hooking his chin over a bony shoulder as his bodyweight pressed Spencer into the mattress. Spencer's nose rubbed his scalp, and a gust of moist air warmed his ear a moment later. 

Finding comfort in the familiar, the scent and weight and feel of home, Spencer slowly relaxed, his hands rising up to pat mindlessly at Derek's arms and torso only to fall back to the sheet. 

Derek lay awake, breathing in the fading copper tang of fear, the sickly smell of drugged sleep and the stronger, underlying sweetness of Spencer's skin as a helpless rage roiled in his gut.


	34. An Innocent Inquisition

"Did I ever thank you?" Spencer asked, glancing up at Gideon across the remains of breakfast.

Gideon raised an eyebrow. "For?"

"What you said at the...the Hayes'," he whispered, then looked away, guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders.

"I couldn't know you could see us and not do something." Gideon frowned. "He used that against you, though. Didn't he?"

"I--yes. That's why..." Spencer stopped, sipping at his coffee.

"That's why...?" Gideon prompted.

"I...Gideon, can I ask..."

"Spencer, Hotch and Morgan and I talk about you, yes, but we don't, we aren't going to betray a confidence."

Spencer knew that wasn't necessarily true, but he let it slide. "I just...I don't want Hotch to know."

Gideon's brow furrowed, his expression one of concerned confusion.

"Did you ever wonder what would have happened if, if those girls had held out just a little longer? I mean, we were so close, an hour or two might have made the difference. Maybe less."

"In North Mammon."

Spencer nodded.

"Spencer..."

"I know, I know," Spencer said quickly.

"Torture works whether you're aware of what's going on or not," Gideon finished despite the interruption.

"They didn't have a chance."

"Neither did you," Gideon said, his voice impossibly gentle.

Spencer could only stare, pain and self-loathing turning his eyes dark. "Does it still work if you're the one responsible?"

Indignant determination flashed across Gideon's face. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known--"

"Gideon, I'm not talking about getting caught." He ducked his head, wheezing as his ribs protested.

"Take it easy."

"Easy for you to say."

"I've had cracked ribs before."

Spencer bit his lip rather than snap back. "I didn't have to kill him," he said finally, unable to meet Gideon's eyes.

"Oh?"

"We..." and he swallowed, glancing first to one side, then the other. Licked his lips. "We were still working on a profile - Hankel wasn't a suspect when we went to talk to him. But once, once I knew, once he had--I had a lot of time to, to think, to plot out variations, what he would do, how he would respond. If I got it wrong. If you did something else."

Gideon kept his peace, let Spencer gather his thoughts.

Spencer finally looked up at him, eyes full of anguish. "I played him like a fish. I played them against each other. I, I gave Tobias the support he needed to defy Charles. I knew...when you talked to me from the Hayes', I knew...Raphael would use it against me. I knew he'd go after one of you. I knew you'd be watching, that you could, could defend yourselves, and maybe..." He ran shaking hands over his face. "When, when Raphael made me choose one of you, I told him to kill me instead. I had to make him use the gun, I had to make him...it was a revolver, I could...see the shell, I knew *that* time wasn't going to kill me. I knew when I had to give him Hotch, because I couldn't give him... It was a game, moving chess pieces, cat and mouse, and I strung him along and let him think he had all the power and I killed him and I didn't have to..."

"He did have all the power," Gideon said simply. "You had to use every tool at your disposal just to stay alive. Just to give us information to try and find you."

"No, no," Spencer shook his head, hissing in pain at the sudden motion. "You don't understand..."

"What does Hotch have to do with it? Why didn't you want him to know?"

Spencer's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he fought for words.

"You know he doesn't blame you for anything."

"I played him the same way," Spencer admitted in a tiny, guilt-stricken voice.

"No, Spencer, you gave him information he needed, we all needed," Gideon countered. "The one thing we all were thinking was that the only thing we needed to crack the case was you, and you were the reason we needed to crack the case. And you came through for us anyways. I can't tell you how proud of you I am, I don't have the words."

Spencer said nothing, only mangled the napkin held between his fingers.

"Besides, Hotch is your mom." Gideon couldn't help but smile. "I think he'd give a great deal more for your life and sanity than just being an information pipeline to Garcia."

"Have I stopped? Was that--"

"We're a family, Spencer, it's human nature to give the people we care about tools to protect ourselves and each other. That's what you did with Hotch, nothing more, nothing less. You're not using him. You're not a danger to him."

The dark spectre of genetics reared its ugly head, sending a cold shiver down Spencer's spine.

"More coffee?" Gideon offered, rising from his place at the table.

Blinking in startlement, Spencer noted his empty mug, then held it out as much as he could without hurting himself. "Please?"

"Of course."

Spencer stared at the table, listening to the steading clinking sound of Gideon stirring sugar into his coffee.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask," Gideon said blandly, setting the mug back on the table and retaking his seat.

"It's not like I wasn't expecting Derek to take some time for himself." Spencer shrugged.

Gideon looked surprised. "It doesn't bother you that he left without a word?"

"He made sure I wasn't alone. I don't really think that's 'without a word'." Spencer clenched his jaw. "I wasn't the only one tortured. I, I was just the only one with any influence over it."

"Derek's talking to Hotch at the moment. I think. He'll probably be gone a few days. Is that okay with you? I could--"

"No, no, that's fine. Just...I don't want to be surprised when he gets back." Some subconscious tension faded at the news.

Gideon frowned, picking up something, but unwilling to push. Thankfully. "All right."

Sighing, Spencer nodded, starting to slump in his seat. His ribs made him straighten suddenly, eyes opening on a flash of agony.

"Take it easy," Gideon said again.

"You'd think. I'd learn," Spencer managed between panting breaths. It was true; he had learned, as a child, a teenager bullied by those older, bigger, stronger. As a member of the BAU, he'd been protected, insulated, and those hard-earned lessons had begun to fade. He was paying for it now.

"Hmm. Some lessons I'd rather you not have to."

"So would I," Spencer whispered.

Gideon nodded. "Speaking of questions...you didn't have to kill him?"

Spencer swallowed hard, eyes showing white before he could bring himself to answer. "I, I had to give him...I had to confess to something he'd want to kill me for. Something he'd...have to untie me for. I saw the lights, I knew you were...I was lucky, he was facing the wrong way, but he could have turned around...I'd already dug my grave figuratively, I knew he'd make me do it literally..."

"Seeing you next to that half-dug grave will give me nightmares for the rest of my life," Gideon admitted softly.

Color drained from Spencer's face. "D-don't g-g-get me started." Gideon wasn't the only one dreaming about it.

Gideon risked reaching across the table to squeeze Spencer's hand.

Spencer couldn't suppress a flinch; physical contact was going to take some time to be okay again. He could only be thankful he managed not to pull away. "There were things I c-could have done, I knew how, how to play them...but I, I arranged it. So that the gun would be on the shell. And I could get it."

"What else were you going to be able to do? You had a broken foot, a concussion, you'd been drugged and beaten and dehydrated...I know Derek's been working on your hand-to-hand, but you had no chance at all against him."

"I could have--"

"You had no room for error, Spencer," Gideon interrupted, fierce and implacable. "None."

Spencer gulped, twitched his hand beneath Gideon's and hated the fact that he felt relieved when Gideon let go.

"If you didn't have to kill him - and you did, it wasn't an option - why did you?"

Tears glazed Spencer's eyes. He couldn't answer. He couldn't _not_ answer.

"Spencer?"

"I had to save myself."


	35. To Logical Conclusions

Title: To Logical Conclusions  
Series: Of Innocence and Empathy  
Author: Frogg   
Beta: Nidrian  
Rating: FRT-13, mention of rape/torture  
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Damnit.   
Word Count: 1554

Aaron opened the door, taking in Derek's haggard appearance as he took the steps to the porch too slowly.

Tendons stood out in Derek's neck as he met Aaron's eyes, anger and grief twisting his features into a bitter mask.

"C'mon inside. There's coffee." Aaron held the door open, closing it with a quiet snick once Derek passed him.

"Haley?" Derek asked, his voice raspy.

"She's having a girl's day out. She took Jack with her." 

There was silence then, as Derek took a seat at the counter and waited.

Aaron filled the mugs he'd taken out and handed one over, unsurprised when Derek wrapped his hands around the swiftly warming ceramic instead of drinking it.

"You knew I was coming."

Aaron nodded. "Jason called me." Shrugging, he took a sip of his own coffee, licking his lips before glancing up. "I called Penelope."

"Penelope? Aaron, why?" 

"You called Jason to watch Spencer. JJ's too involved to be an option. Emily's still too new for you to consider talking to her. And neither Jason nor I were sure you'd wind up here." Aaron held his gaze until Derek flinched and looked down at his hands. "I hoped you would, but I didn't want Penelope caught off guard if you didn't."

Derek took a few harsh breaths before answering. "I thought we had an agreement not to profile each other."

"That's not profiling, that's just the way our team works."

Finally taking a sip of his coffee, Derek pointedly ignored the remark.

"Am I wrong?"

"You really think I'd go to Penelope with something like this?"

"Since you haven't told me what **this** is, I don't know." Aaron held up a hand. "Derek, half the office was wagering on you and Penelope. You can't exactly say that your relationship with her is entirely professional."

"None of us can say that the team is entirely professional," Derek shot back.

"You're right, it's not. The team is family. For some of us, all the family we have."

Derek didn't answer.

"You're welcome to sit here all day if you want, or dance in circles with me arguing, but I can't help if you don't talk to me. I know you didn't come here for the coffee."

A slash of white flashed across Derek's face as he smiled, then set down his mug. "You know, he's talked about Charles, and Tobias. In the hospital, through withdrawal and everything else..." He broke off and shook his head.

"He never talked about Raphael."

"I wasn't going to push him. It wouldn't have helped, I thought he'd talk to me when he was ready."

Dread curled in Aaron's gut like a rattlesnake waiting to strike. Whatever had made Derek call Jason at six in the morning couldn't have been good; the fact that Derek had spent hours driving around before ending up on Aaron's porch made it worse. "He still hasn't talked about him?"

Derek shook his head. "If I hadn't...If..." He swallowed hard, color draining from his face. "He had a nightmare," he whispered finally. "I didn't catch more than a handful of words, but he...he was arguing with Raphael."

 _And if Carl Buford hadn't abused you the way he had, you never would have understood, either,_ Aaron thought to himself. "And?"

"It makes me sick, man." Derek stared at him with pained, tear-glazed eyes. "I watched him hug you and JJ in that cemetery, and he was favoring that damn broken foot, but. I thought, maybe, just maybe... You know, you and me and Gideon thought, maybe--"

"We didn't see everything that was done to him, and since he didn't move like a rape victim, maybe he hadn't been."

A single tear escaped, its perfect trail ruined as Derek bent and swiped angrily at it, leaving a sheen of moisture to glisten momentarily across his cheek. "When I was a kid, I prayed for it to stop, that I could escape...and I've spent the whole damn time since Spencer...hoped and prayed and...I couldn't touch him in that cemetery. I couldn't let him...I couldn't take the risk that he'd associate it with me, it had nothing to do with the locals."

Aaron had no answer for that.

"We haven't so much as kissed since...I won't do that to him, not until he's ready, and he doesn't need my anger. And I can't keep doing this, all I can think about is that I wasn't there for him, not when he needed me--"

"Derek," Aaron interrupted, "you really think you weren't there for him?"

"We sent him off with JJ, Aaron. If it had been you, or me, or Gideon, or even Emily, we could have--"

"You've spent the whole morning thinking about what Raphael did to him, and how Spencer's reacting to it."

"And?"

"And...I know you have a personal rule about profiling your friends, much less Spencer, but he's not going to talk to you about it. At least, not for a good long while. You're in no shape to try and talk to him about it anyway." Aaron let go of his coffee with one hand, sliding his thumb and forefinger into his pocket to hit speed dial on his cellphone. "You already pointed out that he wasn't moving like a rape victim when we got to him."

"Raphael wasn't trying to physically hurt him, yeah, I got that. It was the whole 'sin of homosexuality' bullshit. What does that--"

"Did you never think that Spencer would use that perfect memory of his to insulate himself from that kind of damage?"

Derek froze.

"You may not have been there for him, but as far as Spencer was concerned?"

"It...had occurred to me," Derek admitted reluctantly, then looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know what bothers me more," he choked out, laughing a little. "That Raphael...or that Spencer used Tobias and me against him."

"Thank you for realizing that the Dilaudid had a part in it."

Derek gulped down the rest of his coffee before answering. "I never did thank you...I know you had to do a lot of fancy footwork to get the docs to let me stay."

Mouth quirked in a small smile, Aaron took the time to refill both their mugs. "Like I said, family."

Derek raised his mug in a mock toast. "Whatever, man, I am _not_ calling you Mom. I don't care what Spencer thinks."

Aaron snorted. "Don't even think about it. You have one already."

"So does Spencer."

"Perhaps in the literal definition." Aaron waited for Derek's nod of acknowledgment before continuing. "Does it bother you?"

"I think at this point it's more a matter of what doesn't bother me."

"Does it bother you that we were too late to rescue him?"

"He did a damn good job of rescuing himself." There was no hiding the bitterness in his voice.

"Yes, he did. I think that was my point."

"I never wanted him to have to know what it is to kill someone. Not like Dowd," Derek added, forestalling the interruption. "But..."

"A choice between his life and someone else's. Particularly an innocent."

"Tobias wasn't an innocent. You know what Spencer's worst nightmare is, and Tobias only fed into it."

"Tobias didn't know that."

Derek's lips curled. "Ignorance is no excuse. Spencer begged him not to."

"And Spencer didn't leave you anything to rescue him from."

Derek bent his head, knuckles turning white against the blue mug. "I told you, I can't be around him right now. Not knowing..."

"If I thought it'd help, I'd offer to go in and spar with you."

"Man, I do not need 'putting my boss in the hospital' on my record," Derek answered half in amusement, half in disbelief.

"You're going to have to let it out at some point. It'll eat you up inside if you don't."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"I can't bring Tobias back so you can beat him to death. But..."

"But?" Derek arched an eyebrow.

"I can make arrangements for you to go back to Marshall Parish. Maybe find some closure."

"For me?"

"Tobias being dead, and Spencer recovering, is enough for the rest of us. I think," Aaron added. "It obviously isn't for you."

Derek clenched his teeth.

Aaron waited.

"Aaron, they're not going to pay for a trip back there. The case is closed, there's nothing left for me to do."

"Let me worry about that. I may not be able to get you back to Marshall, but I can get you within driving range." Aaron's lips twitched in a small smile. "Besides, how do we know we found all the victims? Or that there isn't something down there that'd help Spencer recover?"

"Aaron, you know as well as I do that there's nothing there--"

"We know. They don't." Aaron cocked his head to one side. "I may have...left a few things out of the report, just in case."

Derek stared. "You're playing fast and loose with the rules? If Strauss finds out about this, she'll have your head."

Aaron could only shrug. "Family, Derek. You'd do the same for me if our positions were reversed."

Unable to answer verbally, Derek swallowed an entirely inadequate thanks.

"Besides, there actually is something down there that can help Spencer."

"And what's that?"

"Your peace of mind."


	36. A Limit to Generosity

Haley scrambled, rising half out of her chair as she fished through her purse, Aaron's ringtone beeping out the 1812 Overture in muffled, tinny notes.

One-one thousand, two-one thousand.

The Tchaikovsky ceased as Haley flipped open the phone, giving way to Aaron's voice, distant and overlaid with the faint ruffle of skin over denim. "--moving like a rape victim when we got to him."

Six-one thousand.

Morgan's voice, frustrated, pained and unintelligible.

Ten-one thousand.

Debra slid her tray onto the table, raising an eyebrow at Haley. She opened her mouth to ask who was on the phone, only to be cut off with a curt hand gesture.

Twelve-one thousand.

"-would use that perfect memory of his-" The rest of Aaron's question was lost to the start of a series of tones and pauses.

Who. Two, monotone. _Morgan._

Pause. "--been there--"

Where she was needed. Another two, the first held, then sliding into a higher note. _Home._

Pause. Morgan's voice again, cracked.

"Haley?"

She almost missed the next set, then flashed her friend an angry look, pressing one finger to her lips in a request for silence. 

Watching quietly from his high chair, Jack mimicked her, then smiled wide and banged his free hand on the tray. The blocks he was playing with jumped and toppled over.

Need and worry tightened her chest, making it hard to breathe as she struggled to translate the last three messages.

_Call JJ. Jack._

The line went dead. Haley was slow in reacting, leaning back in her chair as she hit end, then snapped the phone shut and rested her arm across the table.

"What in the world was that about?" Debra asked.

"I need to make a phone call and go home," Haley said, shaking herself back to full awareness. She opened the phone again, scrolling through the numbers in memory.

"Wait. Aaron's calling you home? What about--"

"I told you, one of Aaron's team members was badly hurt and I might have to leave."

Debra's eyes narrowed. "Haley, they're Aaron's team. Let him take care of them. It's not like he hasn't left you behind to deal and gone running off on a case."

Muscles tensing in offense, Haley looked up from her phone. "Debbie, Aaron's team is part of his family. I've told you that before."

"Aaron's painted a huge bullseye on your back, and Jack's. You think the people he goes after aren't going to hurt him any way they can? Do you really think getting involved with the rest of his team isn't just going to make it worse?"

"I knew that going in." Haley didn't bother explaining the phone codes Aaron had worked out and made her learn, the other things he'd done to make sure he could protect her as much as possible. Debra couldn't come up with a sharp comeback for that, and Haley used the pause to hit talk.

The phone rang twice.

"Hello?"

"JJ, it's Haley."

"Um. Hi? What's up?" JJ sounded confused.

"Aaron asked me to call you."

"Okay?"

"I hope you know why, he didn't tell me. He just told me to call you. He's talking with Morgan at the moment--"

"Oh," JJ interrupted. "Yeah. Thanks. Let him know I'll have the arrangements made, but Morgan will have to come by the office to pick up the paperwork."

"I will."

"Um. Are you taking Jack home now?"

"If Debbie lets me."

Debra shot her an insulted look.

"I think Jack might be just what Morgan needs right now."

Pain sliced through Haley, making her fight to keep it off her face. Derek adored kids, and was adored right back; the whole team knew that, and knew that he should have some of his own. They also knew better than to bring it up as a subject of discussion. She choked regret down enough to answer. "I hope so."

"So do I," JJ answered quietly. "I'll let you go. Say hi to Hotch when you get the chance, ok?"

"I will. Bye."

Debra glared at her in affront. "So you're just going to let him run roughshod over you?"

"Aaron is my husband. He doesn't ask me to get a job, or follow any of the patterns of domestic abuse. Trust me, those, I know, and I'd recognize. He's offered to pass up cases, and I've blown hot and cold on him with passive-aggressive shit I can't take back and haven't been able to apologize for. All he's asking for is my support for the rest of his family." Haley felt the warmth leech from her eyes. "I'm sorry, but my family comes first. If you can't recognize that family is more than Aaron, myself and Jack, do us all a favor."

"What's that?" Debra looked suspicious.

"Don't marry someone in law enforcement."


	37. Protecting Empathy

Stilted conversation ground to a halt as the door to the garage opened, Jack toddling in and turning to watch as Haley slipped through, juggling several bags.

"You're home early," Aaron said unnecessarily.

Haley shrugged. "Debra and I got in an argument, and I didn't really think it wise to stay." Shooing Jack into the kitchen, she set the bags down and came closer. "Am I interrupting anything?" She frowned at Derek. "I mean, you're welcome to come over, you know that, but--"

"Nah, it's all good."

"Unca Mohgan!"

Derek flinched at Jack's surprised, gleeful outburst. "Just needed some space." The clenching of his jaw betrayed the truth.

"Unca Mohgan?"

Unable to hide a smile, Derek slid off the stool and stepped to the end of the counter. "Over here, little man." There was too much pain in his voice to be entirely masked by warmth.

"Hugs?" Jack held out his arms, chubby legs churning as he closed the distance.

Derek bent down and swept Jack up in his arms, tucking the toddler securely against his shoulder. "Hugs, my man, lots and lots of hugs." He kissed Jack just above one ear, wispy blond hair clinging briefly to his lips.

Haley shook her head in sad amazement, sharing a brief glance of understanding with her husband. A small smile crossed her lips as she saw the cellphone in Aaron's hand, pointed at Derek and Jack.

The aire of torment and muted anger Derek had been radiating slowly subsided, swept away by tiny arms wrapped around his neck and the loud, smacking "Mmmwa!" of a sloppy kiss to his cheek.

"If you'll excuse me," Aaron said, quietly so as not to disturb, "I need to call JJ." _'Keep an eye on him,'_ his eyes asked.

Haley nodded, her hand covering Aaron's on her shoulder in solidarity.

Aaron cast one last concerned look at Derek before leaving the room, footsteps silent on the carpet and linoleum.

Crossing the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee, Haley watched silently as Derek carried her son to the family room, settling on the couch.

 _JJ was more right than she knew,_ she thought to herself. As much as she wanted to find out what was going on, Derek was more important, and there was no mistaking how badly he needed Jack's company. Too many times Derek had offered - _had begged,_ Haley's conscience whispered - to watch Jack after a rough case for her to interrupt now.

Quiet murmurs drifted into the kitchen, a story meant for Jack's ears and Derek's bleeding heart. 

Haley leaned over the counter, mug clutched in both hands, wondering, listening to sleepy, childish giggles and deep laughter. It never ceased to amaze her - amaze anyone, really - how close Derek got to any child in his sphere of influence, how much power children had over Derek's emotional state. 

Not for the first time, she was confronted by the differences between Aaron and Derek, and suppressed the idle wish that Aaron be just a little more...

It didn't matter.

As long as she could get Aaron to agree, it wouldn't matter.

And even if he didn't, she knew better to think that Derek Morgan would ever turn his back on a child.

Now if she could only get him to realize that...


	38. Uncertain Logic

Hotch slumped in his chair, the slip of paper in his hands worn soft with handling.

_Should you need me..._

There was no greeting, no signature. The envelope it'd arrived in had had no return address, though it was postmarked from Cleveland.

Even without identifying marks, Hotch knew who'd written the note. He knew who would pick up the phone, if he could bring himself to dial the number listed.

If he could accept the fact that the one person who could pull Morgan back from the edge had already gone over it.

 _'You can't save her,'_ his conscience whispered.

Hotch grit his teeth and dialed, unwilling - incapable - of sacrificing Morgan to his own misgivings.

"Hello?"

"Elle." Hotch forced the lingering suspicion out of his voice.

"Hotch." Elle sounded pleasantly surprised. "I'd wondered if you'd call."

Her concern struck a chord. "You've been keeping up with the team."

"As much as I can, now," she affirmed. 'Now that I don't have clearance,' remained unsaid.

Hotch shut his eyes against the pain. "You know about the Hankel case then."

"Some. What do you need from me?"

 _'Other than a signed confession,'_ Hotch filled in automatically, then savagely quashed the thought. "Reid was taken hostage, but managed to let us know where he was. Except by the time we got to him--"

"He'd already killed Hankel," Elle finished softly. "How is he?" She could follow their cases through the news, but anything beyond that was largely beyond her reach.

"Reid's recovering," Hotch replied in near-monotone. "Slowly, but he'll get there."

"And Morgan?"

Hotch couldn't find words to answer.

"That bad."

"Worse."

"You want me to talk to him."

"I think," Hotch started, choosing his words carefully, "he could benefit from a different perspective."

"I bet."

Hotch grunted noncommittally. "I know I don't have the right to ask--"

"Hotch," Elle interrupted gently, "if you didn't have the right, I wouldn't have sent you my number."

Shutting his eyes tightly, Hotch suppressed several uncharitable thoughts.

Apparently too many. "Hotch, do I need to come back to D.C.?"

"No, I'm sending him back to Marshall Parish." Hotch took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He should be there late this afternoon, but I can't give you any guarantee--"

"I'll take my chances."

"Sorry about the short notice," Hotch added.

Elle laughed, bright and bitter. "When were we ever given notice?"

Hotch smiled despite himself. "True."

"So. Marshall Parish, Georgia. Anywhere in particular?"

"The plantation cemetery. Do you need directions?"

"You know, they have this really neat website called Google Maps. You should try it sometime."

The wicked humor made Hotch flinch; it was only one of many things he missed about working with Elle.

"Hotch?"

Apparently this was the point at which their conversation was reduced to stilted small talk and awkward silence.

"I know you're still there."

"Elle?"

"Yes?"

"For what it's worth..." Hotch braced himself, needing to get the words out before he lost his nerve. "I'm sorry." He couldn't help but mentally list the reasons why in the silence that followed: sorry he'd left her unprotected; sorry he hadn't put his foot down and not let her rejoin the team too soon; sorry he'd asked too much of her; sorry she'd crossed the line. Sorry she'd left.

Sorry he couldn't save her.

"So am I." The belated reply was numb with pain, rich with regret, barely more than a whisper.

The line went dead, his cell phone switching back to a dial tone.

Flipping it closed, Hotch stared sightlessly at his desk and prayed. Prayed to a god he no longer believed in; prayed that sending the fallen to catch the falling wasn't the most colossal mistake he'd ever made.


	39. A Dark World Dreaming

"He fell asleep again? It was his turn to pick the movie..."

"He's seen it before, JJ, it's not like he can notice something new." Emily reached over and slowly turned the table lamp up a bit, leaving the room cast in shadows.

"Spencer feels safe and protected here. I'd be more concerned if he hadn't fallen asleep," Gideon added, an indulgent smile on his face.

"You do have to admit, it's cute." Garcia reached into her purse.

"Penelope--" Derek's tone was warning; he could feel every twitch and flex of Spencer's muscles against him. He knew this dream, this nightmare. The pattern of pull-relax in the shoulders, the cast vibrating against his knee.

"What? I just want to take a picture." She pointed her cameraphone.

"Garcia, don't." The words were sharp this time, Derek cursing his immobility.

It was too late; the flash went off, temporarily blinding everyone.

"See?" Garcia chortled a little at the photo displayed on screen.

Spencer stirred, mouth opening and closing on silent protest, fingers curling into claws and digging furrows in Derek's tee-shirt. 

"It's okay," Derek whispered, trying to sooth his partner and failing. He tilted his head, eyeing Garcia upside down from his position on the floor. "Next time I tell you not to--" He broke off on a grunt, lungs collapsing as Spencer shoved himself off his chest in his haste to get to his feet.

"No!" Spencer lunged forward, tripping over his cast and falling hard on one knee, dragging himself back up on the coffee table. "No...I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"Spencer?" Hotch stood, reaching out to catch him, only to have Spencer duck and lurch towards the hall.

Derek scrambled to his feet. "Stop, just stop, all of you," he snapped, rounding the couch and wrapping one arm around Spencer's waist, helping support him to the bathroom. "Spencer? What happened?"

There was no answer, no words, just a thin, tormented scream from somewhere in the depths of Spencer's soul. He knelt in front of the toilet, gagging, barely managing to wait until Derek had the lid up before losing what little he'd managed to eat at dinner.

"Spence..." Derek waited, heart heavy and aching as Spencer panted, spitting every few moments.

"I-I missed," he said finally. He hiccuped, swiped at his nose with one hand. "I missed. I didn't kill him, I killed...I s-saw him die..." Spencer's shoulders heaved as what little control he'd managed to save shattered.

 _Wasn't me,_ Derek whispered to himself. "Hotch?"

"H-he...forgave me..." Spencer managed between sobs, as though somehow forgiveness was worse than the crime.

"Jesus." Derek felt his own breath catch, his eyes itch and burn. These nightmares were far too real, far too vivid to fade upon waking. Spencer sometimes spent twenty minutes or more fighting off double-vision, a haze of memories overlaid upon reality, unable to say for certain which one was the truth.

A quiet tap on the wall interrupted.

Derek poked his head out the door.

"Can I help?" Hotch asked, holding out a glass of water and a bottle of mouthwash.

"Just a second." Taking the offerings, Derek set the mouthwash down and knelt next to Spencer. "Here." He held the glass as Spencer sipped and spat, sipped and spat, grimacing at the acid taste. Derek could tell the phantom images were still present in every shift of weight, every spasm of Spencer's fingers on his arm. "Done?"

Spencer nodded, letting his partner help him to his feet, then sank against Derek's chest, tears spent and fresh wetting the cotton tee.

Reaching behind him, Derek knocked on the wall. "It's okay, Spence, it's okay, it didn't happen."

Hotch stepped into the open doorway; Spencer stiffened, straightening, and Derek carefully eased away, the three of them crammed into the room making it difficult.

"H-hotch." The name came out in a squeak, Spencer's hands twitching.

"Are you okay?"

Eyes wild, Spencer pulled back, shaking his head.

"Of course not." Hotch held out his arms, smoothly, slowly so as not to startle.

"I-I k-k-ki..." Spencer couldn't finish the sentence, tears pouring down his face as he leaned too far back.

Hotch stepped forward, catching him before he could hit the wall, wrapping him in comfort. "It's okay, everyone's okay, you didn't hurt anyone," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss into unkempt hair.

Derek could all but see reality snap back into focus as Spencer accepted Hotch's support, burying his face in the hollow of neck and shoulder. Briefly resting a hand on Hotch's back in thanks, Derek left the room, shutting the door behind him.


	40. Protective History

As the fanfare signaling the end of the movie started, Haley carefully closed her book and set it on the nightstand.

The closing theme suddenly stopped, giving way to soft murmurs: JJ, Emily, Jason, Penelope.

Then Derek, sharper, warning; Haley slid out of bed, silk robe swirling around her ankles as she crossed to the bathroom. The bottle of mouthwash weighed heavy in her hands, heavy as the age-old memories of what--

Sounds of a struggle, someone falling, Spencer broken and desperate, raised voices and rushed footsteps.

She made it to the hall before the scream came, too high, too familiar. Caught in an eerie sense of deja vu, Haley fought the urge to cover her ears, Spencer's pain reverberating against her skull, echoing a cry deeper in timbre until the two became indistinguishable.

The rush of water through pipes wasn't enough to drown out Spencer retching, even beyond a closed bathroom door. It was too brief to even try, and then Aaron was there, eyes dark, glass in hand as he took the offered bottle over the stair railing.

The near-silence then was oppressive, nothing except Spencer's muffled anguish and Derek's rich sympathy and support.

"Haley?" Penelope's voice broke, expression stricken, tears shining stripes across her cheeks. "I, I'm sorry, I didn't, I don't--"

"Penelope." Haley stopped the tumbling rush of words. "This is not the time, and I am not the person," she said not unkindly, an island of calm. She glanced back at her husband, now waiting with forced patience for entry to the bathroom.

"You were expecting this," Jason rumbled in quiet accusation.

"Like mother, like son," Aaron replied blandly; the bathroom door opened and he disappeared before anyone could react.

Shock hung in the air, a heavy silence dragging on until it gave birth to a tangle of "Did he just--" and "I didn't know--" and "Haley--", Gideon's frown showing the crease between his eyebrows. 

Haley watched, unperturbed, offering no answers to questions the rest couldn't finish, until Derek eased out of bathroom, closing the door behind him. "Would you go and get everyone's bags? I don't want any of you driving home tonight."

The naked relief on Derek's face averted protest; he swept the pile of keys off the end table and into his hand, making it to the front door just in time to hear the thump-slide of two bodies hitting the wall, then the floor. 

Another keening scream stopped him cold, followed by ragged, choking sobs and begging apologies. "I'm sorry - hic - I'm sorry - hic - d-don't, don't forgive - hic - me, p-please, d-don't - hic..." clear and mangled through the walls, low murmurs unintelligible, soothing and constant, more thumps and bangs as Spencer lashed out, battling the spectres in his mind.

"Derek, go," Haley said implacably, watching every muscle tense in Derek's struggle not to run back to Spencer's side.

Resting one hand on the door, Derek bowed his head, then pushed off and twisted to look back at Haley.

"I'll call you when it's safe."

And Derek was gone between one muffled sob and the next.

"Before anyone protests, the last thing Spencer needs tonight is to have to wait for one or more of you to come back here if he has another nightmare."

Jason's brow furrowed. "You planned this," he said in gentle accusation.

"Like Aaron said, like mother, like son. I've been taking care of Aaron for a very long time." Haley stepped around the couch, taking her husband's cell phone from the end table and slipping it into the pocket of her robe. She looked back down the hall, listening to the now nearly-inaudible crying. "Come on, I'll make some hot cocoa." 

Everyone's footsteps paused outside the bathroom door; it wasn't until later, as Haley poured steaming cocoa from a large saucepan into waiting mugs, that they heard the door open, Reid's cast hitting the floor heavily.


	41. Restore the World

Lazy Sunday morning. Derek groaned, rolled over, and blinked. 

Spencer was missing. 

Missing? On a day he could sleep past noon if he wanted? 

Derek heaved a sigh, rubbing his eyes clear of sand. If Spencer wasn't still in bed, something was wrong. 

Derek found his lover in the kitchen, all but radiating guilt and self-loathing. 

"Spence?" 

Tiny clicks sounded as Spencer rolled the vials against each other, shoulders hunched as he slumped at the kitchen table. The velvet-lined black lacquered box they were kept in was empty, the lid face down, hiding the elegantly painted crane and bamboo. "I almost took it," he said finally, his voice dead, toneless. 

Derek raised an eyebrow, somehow unsurprised. "Okay." 

Quick, shuddering breath, surprised. "I got a syringe, and a t-tourniquet, and...I wanted to, I needed the-the escape, I needed t-to see," he blurted out, hands closing convulsively over the vials. 

Carefully keeping his body relaxed, unthreatening, his tone and expression accepting and nonjudgemental, Derek eased around the table so he could see Spencer's face. "What did you need to see?" 

Spencer swallowed hard, stared at the table with eyes unfocused. "Wh-when...when T-t-t-" he broke off, unable to mention the name. "He g-gave it to me, I saw...I saw my dad leaving. My m-mom, early, later, wh-when I, when I had her hospitalized..." The words choked him then, and he had to stop and clear his throat. 

Derek's heart ached. "You needed to see if you were breaking." 

Mouth open, chest heaving with every erratic breath, Spencer nodded rapidly. Tears spilled down his cheeks, only to be wiped away childishly with an impatient hand. 

"When was this? Not this morning..." 

Violent shake of head. "I-in H-houston, I couldn't..." He broke off on a thin whine. 

_Jesus,_ Derek thought. "Spencer." His voice was sharp, demanding attention. 

Spencer froze, eyes caught by his lover's. 

"Listen to me. If we had any notion of what was going on, you wouldn't have been on that case. You shouldn't have been there, not with what you were going through, with what you're still going through. We couldn't send you back home without doing more damage, but trust me, that case hit way too close to home for you," he explained patiently. "I knew it, Hotch knew it, Gideon knew it, JJ knew it. Garcia knew it, and she wasn't even on the ground." 

"B-but I w-was working with, with..." 

"Emily, yeah, Spence, I know." Derek covered Spencer's hand, stilling the convulsive shifting of vials. "We've been very careful, trying to keep you from working with her by yourself, but we were caught off-guard, and letting you work with her there was the lesser of two evils. We couldn't exactly reassign half the team without an explanation. And none of us wanted you to work on your own just then." 

"I-I freaked Emily out, in, in Houston," Spencer admitted painfully. 

Derek nodded. "You were putting yourself in the UnSub's shoes, and not the way I do it. You were too close to the extreme. None of us blame you for it, Spence." 

Shutting his eyes against the loving acceptance in Derek's, Spencer hunched down in his seat. 

"Spencer." 

Ragged breath. 

"I don't blame you for wanting it. I wouldn't have blamed you if you had taken it. I love you, and that's not conditional." 

Soft whimper. 

Derek opened his mouth to try again, but stopped as Spencer pulled his hand away, turning the vials around and shakily returning them to their place in the velvet-lined box. "You okay?" 

"Too much temptation," Spencer muttered in answer, replacing the lid with a soft click. 

"Okay." Derek raised an eyebrow questioningly. 

"I, I'll take them back and g-give them to Hotch tomorrow," Spencer whispered. 

Smiling gently, Derek nodded. "Do you want me to come with you?" 

Spencer shook his head. "N-no, I n-need to do this my, myself." 

"Okay." 

Finally glancing up at him again, Spencer stilled. "You, you're not mad at me?" 

Unable to take it anymore, Derek rose and circled the table, kneeling next to his lover and resting both hands on Spencer's shoulders. "I'm not mad at you. I'm not going to stop loving you if you're tempted to take it, or if you do take it, or for any other reason." He lifted a hand to delicately brush tears from Spencer's cheeks. "If you want to take those back to Hotch, I'll help you any way I can, even if it's just to stay out of the way." 

Swallowing convulsively, Spencer searched his eyes for a long moment, then nodded. 

"Can we go back to bed now?" he asked wistfully, getting to his feet and tugging Spencer up with him. 

Spencer sniffed. "O-of course, I, I'm sorry--" 

Derek interrupted, curling a hand behind Spencer's neck to pull him closer. "No apologies," he said, the words muffled against Spencer's lips.


	42. Confession of Logic

"Hotch?" 

Hotch glanced up, pen in his hand pausing mid-sentence at the welcome interruption. 

"Can, can I talk to you?" 

"Of course." Carefully keeping his expression neutral, Hotch set the pen down and straightened in his chair. Curiosity turned to concern and suspicion as he watched Reid edge nervously inside and close the door behind him. "Is there a problem?" 

"I--" Reid tried and failed to meet his eyes. "I don't know. I, I wanted to...apologize," he paused, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "For my behavior, in Houston." 

"It's not necessary," Hotch replied easily, instinctively relaxing. Something inside softened, warming at the unexpected apology. "Reid, you were - and are - still recovering from--" 

"No, that's not..." Reid broke off and looked down at his hands, at the black lacquered box clutched loosely between them. "I need to give you this," he whispered, sliding the box onto the desk. 

Hotch eyed the box warily, knowing what it contained. Reaching forward, he pulled the it closer, then slowly lifted the lid to expose two glass vials. Memories of Reid suffering in a far away cabin flashed through his mind. 

"I, I'm sorry..." Reid started, arms wrapped around his thin chest. "T-Tobias gave it to me, and, and I saw...my mother, from before..." He swallowed hard, struggling for words. 

Still staring at the vials, still remembering live video feed on a computer screen, Hotch let Reid talk, breaking tense silence with stumbling, incomplete explanations. 

"I took it, I took them from...his pocket, I needed to, to know--he only gave it to me four times, and, and I went through de-detox..." 

"You needed to know you'd beaten it," Hotch finished quietly. 

Reid nodded, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "I...I almost took it again." The admission was accompanied by a choking sound, a suppressed sob of remembered pain and fear all too real in the here-and-now. 

Hotch glanced up at him then, compassion and understanding softening his expression. "In Houston." 

Reid nodded again, the motion shallow and quick. 

Leaving the box and vials where they were, Hotch got slowly to his feet and rounded his desk, hating the way Reid seemed to shrink in on himself as he approached. Cupping Reid's jaw in one gentle hand, he forced the younger man to look at him. "You didn't take it, Reid," he said softly. "You beat him. You beat all three of them." He couldn't help but feel Reid flinch under his hand, see the flash of panic in Reid's eyes as he fought to break eye contact. "And you have nothing to be ashamed of." 

"Hotch..." Reid's voice cracked. 

"It's okay," Hotch whispered, letting go only long enough to pull Reid into his body, enveloping him in a hug. Rocking back on his heels, he braced himself as Reid all but collapsed against him, breath coming in ragged gasps. "It's okay," he repeated. 

"You, you knew," Reid croaked. "A-About the, the..." 

"The dilaudid, yes," Hotch said, rubbing Reid's spine soothingly. "I saw it in Morgan's pocket." Reid stiffened slightly against him, and he didn't bother to elaborate. 

"But...You didn't, didn't say..." 

"I talked to Morgan in the hospital. As long as he knew what was going on with you, it wasn't something I needed to talk to you about." 

Reid raised his head from Hotch's shoulder and stared. "You-you really--" 

"Hey, you think I'd let you date him if I didn't trust him to take care of you?" Hotch kept his tone light, mockingly offended. 

Blinking, Reid gave him a watery smile. 

"That goes for him, too, you know." Hotch could keep his lips from twitching upwards in a small grin as Reid shut his eyes, then burrowed close again. He could feel Reid's heartbeat slow as he drew comfort and reassurance from Hotch's embrace. After a while though, he had to ask. "You okay?" 

"Mmmm." 

Hotch chuckled a little at the pleased, sleepy note in Reid's voice. "What was that?" he prompted as Reid mumbled something into his shoulder. 

"I said thanks, Mom," Reid whispered. 

"What did you think I was going to do, suspend you?" Hotch replied, rueful amusement thick in his voice. 

"Um." 

"Don't answer that. You did the right thing. You're welcome. And thank you for talking to me." Hotch pressed a soft kiss to Reid's hair, then urged him upright. "Go play with the other children." 

"I'm telling Morgan you called him that." 

Hotch smiled broadly, unconcerned. "By the way." Sobering, he waited until Reid looked back at him from the door. "If you need to see them again, the box will be over on the bookshelves." 

Breath caught in his throat, Reid could only nod his thanks, and slipped out the door. 

Turning to the window, Hotch watched as Morgan swept Reid up in a huge hug, pressing a quick kiss to his lips as JJ looked on in amusement. Flipping open his cellphone, he felt the weight of Reid's continued suffering slide off his shoulders. 

"House of Omniscience, Garcia speaking. What knowledge are you in need of today?" 

"Actually, I was in need of some knowledge to be erased, if that's in your purview," Hotch replied, unable to keep from smiling. 

"You doubt the Goddess of All Things? Shame on you, sir." Garcia giggled. "What can I do for you, Hotch?" 

"Reid just came to talk to me. I need this phonecall and the security footage of my office during that meeting erased." Outside, Morgan had finally set Reid back on his feet and let JJ hug him. 

"Hotch?" Garcia's voice was subdued, concerned. 

"He's fine, Penelope. I just need to make sure he stays that way." 

"Yes, sir. One personal meeting and one phonecall erased. I'll tie up the other loose ends while I'm at it." The line went dead without further comment. 

Hotch was slow to put his phone away, instead watching the small, impromptu celebration in the pit. Sometimes it didn't matter what they were celebrating; Reid's happiness was certainly reason enough. 

But somewhere, deep inside, Hotch could only hope that someday, Reid would have the courage to talk about what had really happened.


	43. This World In Arms

"Reid." 

"Mmm." 

Morgan nudged Reid with his elbow. "Reid." 

"What?" Reid's normally smooth voice was gravelly with fatigue. 

"Go to sleep." 

"I'm reading," Reid muttered in quiet complaint. 

"You've been on that same page for ten minutes. You should be finished with the whole book by now." Morgan sighed, smiling with rueful indulgence. "Go to sleep."

Pale, golden silk escaped from behind Reid's ears as he shook his head, hunching over his book. "I don't want to."

Surprised and concerned at the refusal to actually get some rest, Morgan finally turned from his own book to stare at his lover. "You were up all night last night, and almost the night before. We have at least another three hours in the air, and you don't want to sleep?"

Reid glanced up through the curtain of his hair. "Wanna sleep with you." 

Morgan blinked, then mentally slapped himself. Reid was too exhausted to censor himself; he rarely said so much as 'hello' when he was anywhere near this tired. Years spent being ridiculed because of unintended innuendo had given Reid the habit of keeping his mouth shut except when around those few he trusted implicitly. Still...

Hand shaking, Reid turned the page. Apparently Morgan had woken him up just enough to at least _seem_ aware.

Tilting his head first one way, then the other, Morgan tugged his earphones off, balling them up and shoving them in the carrying case beneath the seat. Then he reached over and snatched the book from Reid's grip, leaving Reid blinking in a numb stupor, hands closing on empty air. Both books - Reid's and his own - were stowed more carefully in that same case.

"I was reading that," Reid protested weakly.

"No, you weren't." Morgan pressed himself back against the couch, then glanced over at Reid, studying the logistics. "Here, you want to sleep, so..." Without further preamble, he handed Reid a pillow from the storage compartment next to him, then leaned sideways, using one long arm at the small of Reid's back to push him forward a few inches. "C'mon, Reid, lie down."

"It's too narrow."

"Not with me holding you, it's not. Now lie down."

Reid gave a wordless complaint, then put the pillow down on the end of the couch and followed orders. "If I fall off..."

"You can blame me."

"Mmph." Reid grunted as they hit the bench together, then squirmed, trying to align his body more comfortably with Morgan's. "Mmmh."

Morgan tightened his hold on Reid as the younger man stilled against him, feeling the slender body relax with a deep sigh. "Better?"

Reid didn't answer.

Raising his head to look down, Morgan frowned.

"Morgan?"

The stage whisper made him glance across the cabin, only to see JJ smiling at him, cameraphone in her hands. Morgan raised an eyebrow in skeptical irritation.

"He's asleep." JJ tilted her head towards Reid. "That was the point, wasn't it?"

Morgan grumbled under his breath, knowing JJ and Garcia would more than likely end up cooing over the photos being taken. "I better get copies of those."

JJ only laughed.


	44. Cold Logic

Hotch stifled a yawn, satisfaction at a job well done and three days of precious little sleep catching up to him. 

As it had already caught the rest of his team. 

He couldn't blame them; after all, it was almost three a.m. 

Another case. 

Another monster. 

Another frantic flight, this time to Sacramento. 

Another victim taken. 

And rescued, alive. 

Not a simple case, but a good one. 

One where Gideon didn't get trapped into the victim's mindset. 

Where Reid's still-healing traumas were left alone, emotional scars thickening, strengthening under the weight of time and experience. 

Where Morgan didn't show up for the return flight looking parboiled, fingers wrinkled and soft from trying to wash off the UnSub's thoughts, the shadows of his empathy clinging like a stain waiting to drag him under. 

Where Emily's uncertainty faded a little more, her worth to the team a little more assured. 

Where JJ's shine wasn't dulled by the media hounds, and the locals didn't look at her like an escapee from a cheerleading camp. 

Where everyone went home, body and heart whole, soul settled, ready to face normalcy with the knowledge that there was one fewer monster out there. 

'And what about you?' 

Hotch smiled sleepily as his conscience spoke up. 'I guess I'm on watch, making sure my family's okay, so I can be with my other family when we get home.' 

'No one's going to hurt them on the plane.' It didn't try to argue with the dual-family concept anymore; it had long since learned the futility in it. 

'Hurt, no. But turbulence, it's kind of chilly--' 

'You can't help the turbulence. They're used to it, and the air conditioning, and there are blankets in the back. Tuck them in, whisper good night, and get some sleep. You aren't going to be any good to Haley and Jack if you're dead on your feet.' 

Hotch didn't answer, his gaze sweeping the half-lit cabin. 

Gideon was slumped against the wall, leaning half on the window, half on the galley partition. 

Emily and JJ curled on the two-person seats across the aisle; Hotch could only tell the difference because Emily's dark hair spilled over the edge closest to him, while JJ's toes were pointed in his direction in the other row. 

Morgan and Reid spooned together, stretched out on the long bench seat, Morgan on his side with his back to the wall, Reid held securely in front of him. They'd been sleeping on the plane like that for a while, long enough for JJ and Garcia to have finally stopped watching. Hotch had to admit, they did look cute; every time Reid shifted, Morgan tightened his arm, keeping them both on the bench. Sometimes Morgan would nuzzle the back of Reid's neck, mumbling unintelligibly until Reid stilled, relaxing against Morgan's chest. 

Hotch idly wondered if they slept that way normally; he already knew that Morgan sprawled if he slept alone. 

The air conditioning kicked in then, interrupting Hotch's musings with a muted hiss and hum. The sleepers responded subconsciously to the draft, shivering in the chill, curling up tighter and sniffling. 

Protective, nurturing instincts stung, Hotch forced himself to his feet and grabbed an armful of fuzzy airline blankets from their closet next to the galley. 

Emily only sighed in her sleep as she was covered, one hand clutching the rolled edge beneath her chin. 

By the time JJ settled, all Hotch could see of her was a few stray wisps of gold and four small fingers. 

Reid stirred, eyes opening to slits in the shadows. "G'night, Mom," he murmured as Hotch tucked the thick blanket around his shoulders.

Hotch couldn't help but smile back. "Good night, Reid." 

"Good night, John-boy," Morgan half growled into Reid's shoulder. Disgruntlement at having been disturbed voiced, Morgan fell back asleep, listening to the soft music of Reid's sleepy giggle and Hotch chuckling quietly in the background. 

"Good night, Morgan," Hotch whispered, knowing full well Morgan couldn't hear him. 

Reid just smiled and shut his eyes. 

Throwing his own blanket over the back of his empty chair, Hotch let the last fall open, shaking it out as he turned towards Gideon, only to find himself being watched with an expression of amused indulgence. He held up the blanket in askance. 

Gideon nodded, waiting until Hotch had all but wrapped him in a hug before whispering, "All the kids tucked in?" 

Hotch nodded. "Something like that." Making sure his body blocked JJ or Emily from seeing, he leaned a few inches farther and pressed his lips to Gideon's, sharing a slow, sleepy kiss. Reluctantly, he backed away and settled in his own chair, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. "Good night, Gideon." 

"Mmhmm." Gideon's eyes shut as sleep dragged him under again. "G'night."


	45. Savage World

Relieved, but still resenting the interruption, Morgan answered his desk phone, keeping his eyes on the paperwork he'd been trying to finish. "Agent Morgan." 

"Hello," an unfamiliar male voice answered, tightly controlled. Morgan could feel the hesitance and uncertainty lurking beneath that control. "This is Jared Macnamara with the D.A.'s office in Chicago." 

Morgan froze, every muscle tensing as the simple introduction told him everything he didn't want to know. 

"Sir? I realize this is...less than welcome, and that you probably don't want anything to do with it, but Carl Buford's trial is coming up in a couple of months, and we wanted to give you the opportunity to testify."

The odd phrasing resonated and Morgan began to relax slightly. "Opportunity?" 

"This isn't a subpoena, Agent Morgan. Once you and your team left, after Buford was arrested, several other young men came forward and volunteered. Your testimony would only be one of many nails in his coffin. But we didn't want to move forward without giving you the choice," Macnamara explained patiently. 

_Several other...Just how many did I fail, damnit!?_ Morgan screamed inside his head. The fingers of his free hand dug into the back of his neck; the phone was clenched in a white-knuckled fist. After a long moment spent fighting down bitterness and nausea, Morgan cleared his throat painfully. "Just tell me when and where," he replied, voice raspy and harsh. 

Macnamara sighed heavily over the phone. "Agent Morgan, I'm not expecting you to answer right this minute. Actually, I'm going to refuse to accept an answer before you've had a chance to consider--" 

"Just tell me when and where," Morgan repeated, sharp and commanding. 

"Sir, I understand you feel--" 

"You understand _nothing,"_ Morgan snarled into the mouthpiece. 

"You didn't fail those boys, Agent Morgan," Macnamara shot back, pure steel in his tone. "Failing would have meant continuing the cycle. Becoming an abuser. Turning your back on them. You didn't. You've spent every minute of your life since then working your ass off to protect the innocent, or trying to get there. You didn't fail them then, and you don't have to do this now." 

Pain knifed through Morgan, leaving him momentarily unable to speak, unable to acknowledge the simple truths that would relieve him of the guilt he'd carried for too long. "They suffered for my inaction." 

"And you suffered because those who came before you did _nothing._ You? You took it upon yourself to investigate, and hound the police, and see to it that the innocent had a champion they could trust." When Morgan said nothing in answer, Macnamara continued. "Take a few days to think about it. Really think about it, don't get on the witness stand out of guilt. I don't want to hear from you for at least forty-eight hours." He gave Morgan his phone number, then hung up without further comment. 

Morgan let out a shuddering breath, setting the phone back on its cradle with fingers gone numb. His awareness of his surroundings returned slowly, and he straightened at the unusual silence, turning in his chair. He found Hotch leaning against Reid's desk, watching him with concern and understanding in his eyes. 

The rest of the pit was empty. 

"Chicago D.A.'s office?" Hotch asked gently. 

Not trusting himself to speak, Morgan nodded. 

"You get subpoenaed?" 

"No," Morgan rasped, then swallowed and tried again. "No, they wanted to give me the...opportunity," he laughed bitterly, "to testify." 

"And you're going to." 

"Did you really expect me not to?" There was no mistaking the self-loathing in Morgan's tone. 

Hotch shrugged. "My only question is...do you want us - any of us, all of us - to go with you? In the courtroom, or in Chicago once it's over?" 

"Hotch, the team can do without me for a day or two while I'm testifying, but if there's a case--" 

"If there's a case, there's three other teams capable of taking it. If you want us there...if you need us there? We'll be there." 

Torn, Morgan opened his mouth to answer, then shut it, then closed his eyes and ground the heels of his hands into them, feeling tears dampen his skin. 

"Of all the things human beings can offer one another, I think comfort is the hardest to ask for, and the hardest to accept. You don't have to give me an answer now, just as you don't have to give the D.A. an answer today." Hotch spoke softly, evenly, as if coaxing a frightened animal out of its bolt-hole. 

Reid had chosen well in sending Hotch to him, Morgan thought. He couldn't argue with Hotch, couldn't disbelieve someone who knew what it was to feel helpless and guilty. "I failed them." He couldn't not say it; it was as much a compulsion for him as setting fires had been for Clara Hayes. 

Hotch looked momentarily surprised, then confused, then suspiciously amused. "I don't know what whoever it was who called you said--" 

"Jared Macnamara." 

"--but I owe him." 

Morgan gave him a look of patented disbelief. "You owe him? For what?" 

"Were you listening to yourself just then? 'I failed them.' You've said that every time this issue comes up." 

"Yeah, Hotch, I know. I did. What does that have to do anything about it?" 

There was a light in Hotch's eyes, a flicker of humor. Of hope. "The way you said it just then, it was something you were trying to convince yourself." 

Morgan tried to think back, watching Hotch watch him, and shook his head. 

"I know what I heard. Never is a very long time, especially when it comes to blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault. This? Letting go? It's a good thing, Morgan. You're too hard on yourself." Hotch straightened, glancing towards the door. "Paperwork can wait. Reid's waiting for you by the elevator. Go home." 

"Hotch--" Morgan started to protest.

"Derek." 

Wisely silent, Morgan stared, knowing that Hotch had made a suggestion, and knowing equally well that he'd make it an order if Morgan pushed. "Waiting for me?" 

"Reid's done with his reports. He's welcome to take the rest of the day off." 

_'And you need it.'_ The words hung between them, unspoken, but understood just the same. 

"Yeah, sure. Call us if there's a case," Morgan muttered, turning back to gather his things and stack the paperwork neatly. Hotch had as much as said there wouldn't be; after all, they weren't the only team in the BAU. 

Just the best. 

He'd just gotten a first-hand demonstration of why.


	46. An Empathic Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer gives Morgan an anniversary present.

Derek laughed, the sound muffled in the cotton of his tee-shirt as he pulled it over his head. "Yeah, it was more than -- Wait," he said, catching sight of a slim, square box on the nightstand at what had long been assumed to be 'his' side of the bed. "What's this?" He freed his arms from the shirt, tossing it vaguely in the direction of the closet, before picking up the box and flicking at the silver-blue ribbon tied around it.

Sobering far too quickly to actually be half-drunk, Spencer smiled, still flush with joy from the small anniversary party the rest of the team had thrown. "I believe it's called a gift. They're usually given on occasions of note, holidays, birthdays, at weddings and--" He stopped, laughing at Derek's glare. "Open it."

Derek didn't bother asking who it was from; he was far too adept at reading Spencer, immediately picking up nervous anticipation as the younger man got ready for bed. Turning his attention back to the box with a fair degree of difficulty, he noted it was incredibly light for its size. The ribbon fell victim to a slight tug, and Derek folded it into a loose hank and laid it on the nightstand before opening the lid.

Nestled in a bed of translucent tissue paper was a plain white card edged in gold.

Gingerly picking it up by the edges, Derek glanced over at Spencer, now sitting cross-legged on top of the comforter in worn bluejeans and nothing else.

Spencer was biting his lip hard enough that the skin had gone bloodless beneath the sharp imprint of teeth.

"Don't hurt yourself," he rumbled softly, pleased at the faint color in Spencer's cheeks and sudden release of tension. Opening the card, he read Spencer's neat scrawl, twice, then a third time just to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. 

_"This coupon is good for: One tattoo of mutually agreeable design and location on one Dr. Spencer Reid from a reputable artist."_

"You're serious."

"You spend so much time drawing on me that I thought I'd give you something a little more...permanent."

Derek felt his face heat with soft memories of tangled limbs and lazy summer afternoons, scents of ink and sweat and musk, swirls of color and line of muscle. For a moment he was thankful Reid wasn't one to call him on it, just hold the knowledge a treasured memory. "What can I say?" he asked in answer, voice rough with arousal. "I love drawing on your skin."


	47. Knowledge and Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan breaks up with Reid after a hostage situation goes haywire; Gideon tries to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original one-shot that spawned this monster of a universe.

Gideon tapped the break room door and leaned in. "Reid? Mind if I come in?"

Reid looked up from the paper he was writing on in mild confusion. "Of course, it-it's the break room."

Taking a seat across from the younger man, Gideon glanced over Reid's form, the bandages and posture. He didn't bother looking at the paper sitting on the table; he knew what it was. "How's the arm?"

Reid started, gave a half-hearted bark of laughter. "You know, it'd be a lot better if people would quit asking me that and reminding me that it hurts." He shrugged, frowning at the white bandage covering most of his left forearm. "It hurts. The glass was worse, though. Not sure why, since the gunpowder..." 

"The window exploded less than three feet away from you. You're lucky to be alive," Gideon replied, tension creeping into his voice. "Why'd you do it, anyway? You know it's--" He cut himself off at Reid's headshake.

"Do you remember..." Reid stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "Do you remember when I failed my firearms qualification? You told me that it wasn't necessary to have a gun to kill someone."

"I remember."

"After...On the plane after I killed Dowd, I agreed with you. I'd been thinking about it, but I kept coming up with more questions. I mean, we all carry the normal issue Glock...but you carry it as an afterthought. Hotch carries two of them. For Morgan, it's just part of the job. And I can't hit what I'm aiming for unless there are lives in danger," Reid said. "Why the difference?"

"And did you find your answer?"

The pen twirled between Reid's fingers for a moment before he answered. "Yeah. The weapons we're most comfortable with, the ones we would choose to use, are really just a reflection of the...intellectual and emotional qualities which most define us."

Gideon raised an eyebrow in interest. "Example?"

"Your weapon of choice is the profile itself. You use wisdom and intuition." A sly smile twisted Reid's lips before he continued. "For Hotch, obviously his guns - a reflection of logic and self control." Reid shut his eyes briefly then, lips thinning. "Morgan's an expert in hand-to-hand, and uses worldliness and empathy. I think that's what attracted me in the first place -- the worldliness. I've never seen anyone as comfortable with themselves as Morgan." He shrugged again. "The empathy's what broke us."

Firmly squashing the urge to reach out in comfort, Gideon could only nod. "And yourself?"

"I...don't really have a physical weapon. You, at least, get a folder, or a piece of paper with the profile. But then again, I have no idea what would go with knowledge and innocence. Or, well, perceived innocence. I can't really claim to be innocent in any sense of the word."

"No, I imagine not." Gideon paused. "So what does this have to do with you trading yourself for the hostages?"

Reid's ears burned. "I'm an FBI agent, but I don't register as a threat."

"Perceived innocence." Gideon sighed. "We're really going to have to get you some more 'weapons'."

Reid gave him a small, sad smile. "That's not necessary, Gideon."

"Oh?"

"Morgan can't do his job if he keeps blaming himself for my injuries. I can't do mine if he's not there to come back to."

"That doesn't make any sense, but then, matters of the heart rarely do."

Reid nodded. "I knew it would end like this before we started, but I couldn't help myself."

"And you're not going to fight for it, either."

A shake of the head. "There's nothing I can say to him that he doesn't already know. And fighting, here?"

"Sometimes all that's needed is for someone else to say it," Gideon pointed out.

"Well, don't. I don't want him badgered about it." Reid huffed, indignant.

"All right." Gideon nodded once and spread his hands in acquiecense. "What now?"

"Now, I go home and sleep for a week. Then I suppose I'll need to go through the standing offers I've gotten and see which one appeals the most."

"You and Morgan were together for over a year."

"One year, three months and seventeen days." Reid smiled. "I can't afford to be unemployed, Gideon. And the FBI wasn't the only organization wanting to hire me."

"Then do me two favors."

Reid just looked up at him expectantly.

"Keep in touch. And don't close the door on the BAU."

Reid gave him that same sad smile. "I'll try."

"Good."

Reid straightened in his chair then, shifting uncomfortably as his shirt pulled across the bandages Gideon knew to be underneath. "If-if you don't mind, I'll come back in once I've healed more to clear out my desk."

"And after you've slept for a week."

"Something like that."

"Sure. Here," and Gideon rose, circling the table to hold out a hand, watching the fleeting expressions of relief and gratitude cross Reid's face as he accepted help getting to his feet.

Reid swayed slightly, wincing at the pain.

"Do yourself a favor. Take a taxi home." Gideon smiled, then reached down for Reid's satchel and handed it to him. "I'll call one for you."

Gingerly taking his belongings, Reid nodded. "I...I appreciate it. Thank you." And then he was gone, pen and paper the only reminders of his presence.

Gideon sighed and leaned against the table, reading.

_"Effective immediately, I, Dr. Spencer Reid, of sound mind and slightly-battered-but-healing body, hereby resign my position..."_

Short and to the point.

Gideon could only shake his head and smile.

It had no date.

~~~

True to Gideon's word, a taxi pulled up to the main entrance a few minutes later. Reid slid carefully into the back seat and gave the driver his home address.

"You mind the music?" the driver asked, meeting his eyes in the rear view mirror.

"N-no, not at all." There was a folksy-sounding song playing, an earthy female voice and guitar. "It's nice, actually. CD?"

"Jonatha Brooke, sir."

"Could you restart it?"

"Certainly." A push of a button, and the track restarted.

Reid pushed the pain in his back and arm to the back of his mind, instead concentrating on the sad strains of music.

 _And you say that you're ok_  
 _You say you don't need anything, or anyone_  
 _And that you're better off this way_   
_You'll be fine no matter what_  
 _What's done is done_

_And walking through these darkened rooms_   
_Filled with empty promises, and your perfume_

_I'll leave the light on_   
_I know you'll be back_   
_I don't need to know any more than that_   
_So don't say a word, don't tell me where you've been_   
_I'll be here waiting, just to let you in_

_And you say that I'm naïve_   
_Love is not a fairy tale_   
_Well maybe so, who would know_   
_Cuz I'm the fool who still believes_   
_That there's a happy ending here_   
_That time will tell and love will know_

_Even in these darkened rooms_   
_I will keep my promises to cherish and believe in you_

_I'll leave the light on_   
_I know you'll be back_   
_I don't need to know any more than that_   
_So don't say a word, don't tell me where you've been_   
_I'll be here waiting, just to let you in_

_I'd rather be a fool now, than a slave to my own pride_   
_I'd rather let you go, just to let you know_   
_That I'm always on your side_

_So I'll leave the light on_   
_I know you'll be back_   
_I don't need to know any more than that_   
_Don't say a word, don't tell me where you've been_   
_I'll be here waiting, just to let you in_

As the last few chords died away, Reid leaned forward and asked, "Would you mind playing it again?"

The driver glanced up at him again. "You like that song." It wasn't a question.

"Story of my-my life, lately."

"If you like." And the song started over.

Reid couldn't be there waiting for Morgan to make up his mind, or to come to his senses. 

But he could leave the light on.

Morgan did, after all, have a key.


	48. And the World Cried Out

The door burst open, banging against the inside wall with a dull thud as the lead SWAT agent rushed in. 

"Clear!" 

Morgan barely managed to keep from running over the officers in front of him, sparing the dead hostages to his left no attention. 

Once inside, he pulled up short, dread and hope filling him. 

Breath hitched, chest growing tight as Morgan slowly approached the bodies in the middle of the room. Glass shards glittered like stars against dark clothing and the spreading pool of blood on the floor. 

"Morgan." Gideon, behind him. A hand gripped his shoulder. 

He shook it off, drawing closer, slipping his gun back in its holster. 

The unsub was gone, unrecognizable, head all but missing after being hit by heavy caliber bullets. Morgan pushed the corpse aside, gentle only out of consideration for the body beneath. 

Knowing, and not caring, that the blood and glass would ruin his pants, Morgan knelt, brushing pieces of window from sandy brown hair before carefully rolling the slender body over. 

Reid stared up at him, eyes wide, guileless and blank in death.


	49. A Demon of Empathy

Derek fought his way out of the tangle of sheets to sit on the edge of the bed, chest heaving from remembered panic, a specter of terror left behind. Swallowing against the rawness in his throat, he scrubbed at burning eyes and willed his racing heart to calm, breath to slow.

The clock showed 3:18 a.m.

"He's not dead," Derek whispered to himself, a shudder ripping through him at the word. "Not..." He swallowed again, knowing he'd blown his voice screaming in a nightmare the likes of which he hadn't had since before he and Spencer had first started rooming together. 

First started guarding each other's dreams.

Spencer had always woken him long before that point.

Derek reached for the phone, then stopped. Spencer was probably in a drugged sleep. Or he'd read Derek's number on the caller ID. Either way, he wouldn't pick up.

And hearing Spencer's voice wasn't going to be enough.

Not now.

Choking with guilt and pain, Derek threw jeans and a t-shirt on and grabbed the key to Spencer's apartment off the dresser.


	50. Silent Empathy

Spencer's skin was warm against Derek's fingers, the heavy silk of hair cool and slick as he gently ghosted a hand over the nape of Spencer's neck. 

"Love you," Derek mouthed silently, watching as his friend slept heavily, the unnatural stillness due to the drugs to sleep, to ward off pain and infection. 

His injured arm atop the sheet, Spencer lay on his side with his back to the door, white bandages and pale skin showing from mid-chest. The shadow of pajama bottoms showed through the plain linen. 

Spencer only ever slept nude when they'd spent the night together. 

Tears stung at the reminder, and Derek backed silently out of the room, shutting the door behind him. 

He no longer had the right.


	51. An Innocent Opportunity

Pain sank its claws into Spencer and dragged him from the vacuum of sleep, the fading effects of painkillers and sedatives no longer enough to offer an escape. Wincing at the movement, he rolled slowly to his back and inhaled deeply as the discomfort settled to match his heartbeat, a hot throb of agony focused at each cut.

Spencer froze mid-breath.

Derek. Fear.

That scent would forever be burned into Spencer's mind, the musk and cologne, the sharp copper tang of terror that had driven them together in the beginning, as it had driven Derek to his apartment tonight.

Forcing himself to think only of getting to the medications sitting on the kitchen counter, and not on whether or not Derek was still in his apartment, he managed to ease out of bed and to his feet.

He found Derek sitting in the living room, elbows on his knees, head bowed.

Derek looked up as Spencer came to a shuffling, unsteady halt, but said nothing to break the uncomfortable silence. After a long moment, he turned away, unable to maintain eye contact.

"I'm still here," Spencer said softly.

Derek swallowed hard. "I know." His voice was hoarse.

Spencer nodded, waiting for him to continue. "You're welcome to stay," he finally offered. "You know where the guest room is." 

"No." Derek whispered. "No, that's all right..."

Spencer nodded again, as if he'd known that woud be Derek's answer. Bracing himself for more pain, he shuffled through the living room to the kitchen, clumsily opening the child-proof canisters and setting out a row of pills. A gasp escaped him, then a whimper as he tried to reach up to get a glass for water; the movement pulled the stitches in his back.

"Here." A long arm all but filled Spencer's vision as Derek reached around him, plucking a plastic tumbler from the cabinet and filling it with water from the tap. "Need anything else?"

Spencer shook his head. "Just water, thank you." Grimacing, he took the half-dozen pills and washed them down.

"Before I forget..." Derek fished the key out of his pocket and set it on the counter.

Stiffening in disbelief, Spencer took the key and pressed it back into Derek's hand. "You're still having nightmares. You either keep the key, or I'll leave the door unlocked. Your choice." He stared Derek down, waiting until he'd clenched his jaw and turned away. "I'm going back to bed. You're welcome to the guest room." 'You're welcome to my bed if you'd just _ask,'_ Spencer thought before he could stop himself.

Derek said nothing.

But Spencer could feel his gaze as he shuffled back to bed.


	52. Outside Empathy

Motion behind him made Morgan lift his head from the window, a respite from the cold glass and monotonous landscape spread out far below. Turning, he politely removed his headphones, schooling his expression into one of expectant neutrality as Hotch slid into the seat across from him. 

"You okay? You seemed pretty distracted back there." 

Morgan shrugged at Hotch's obvious concern. "I hate these back-to-back cases." 

"At least this last one was short," Hotch replied. "This next one looks to be, too." 

Morgan smiled cynically. "One word for you on that, Hotch--" 

"Jetlag." 

Morgan nodded. "Jetlag." 

"Nightmares still bothering you?" 

Morgan couldn't keep himself from straightening in shock, despite that he'd expected the question. Glancing around the cabin, he noted JJ curled up asleep, and Emily listening to her own headphones, file folder open on her lap. 

"The moment you rolled him over, before you told everyone he was still alive, was one of the most terrifying in my life. I've been having nightmares myself," Hotch offered quietly. "You were hoarse when you came in yesterday." 

Morgan shook his head, looked away for a long moment before dropping his gaze to the table. "I roll him over and he's dead, with his eyes open, staring at me. I roll him over, and it's the unsub and Reid's the one we..." He licked his lips, then swallowed before continuing. "I roll him over, and he's got a gun and shoots me." 

"And he's not there to wake you up before you get that far." Hotch reached across the table, squeezing Morgan's arm once in support. 

Knowing Hotch knew why he and Reid had started rooming together, Morgan didn't bother denying it. "Before, in the beginning, he was here because of his mom, and then he couldn't leave. This became...what it is for any of us. Necessary. But now..." Tears glittered on his lashes as he shut his eyes tightly against the pain. "It's me he's here for, I'm the one who's holding him here. And in my dreams...It's not Hankel, or Bryar, or any of them hurting him. It's me, and I can't take it anymore." 

"I don't have any of the statistics Reid would be giving you if you told him that." Hotch's lips twitched at Morgan's half-laugh; it was only the truth, after all. "But I've watched the two of you, and I'm pretty sure I'm right when I tell you that he'd say you're what keeps him fighting. You're what enables him to come back from these situations." 

Unable to answer Hotch directly, quite possibly because he was right, Morgan changed the subject. "Is Gideon--?" 

"Gideon's taking care of Reid." Hotch studied his friend closely for a moment, weighing the silence between them. "He's not going to be very mobile for a few days, at least." 

"I know." He couldn't help but think of the pain Reid had been in just trying to take his medications, or what he'd done to help after Reid had returned to bed. "I did what I could, but..." Morgan sighed. "It wasn't enough." 

"Oh?" 

Morgan shrugged. "I left plates and cups on the counter. Poured his cereal, rearranged his fridge. Little things." 

"You still love him." 

"It was never about that."


	53. The Impact of Innocence

Threading his way between the cars parked at the side of the road, Spencer leaned gingerly against the trunk of a rust-orange junker, scanning the afternoon crowd half-heartedly. The sounds and smells of a warm spring day assailed him: children's laughter, barking dogs, motors of every description, the steady rhythmic booming of a drum circle two blocks down; exhaust fumes, a profusion of flowers, cooking food from a dozen restaurants. 

Filing it all away, he flipped open his satchel and carefully settled his purchase in his satchel, as much for the half-healed cuts on his back as for the ornament's fragility. 

Without the weight of the bag holding it secure, the strap fell from his shoulder, landing limp at his elbow. 

A horn blared off to Spencer's right; a woman screamed. 

The entire satchel fell from numb fingers as Spencer's perception narrowed to the toddler in the street, the semi-trailer bearing down on him, its tires leaving thick black marks on the pavement, and the too-short distance between them. 

He was moving before he gave it conscious thought, pain in his back and arm forgotten, running full-out towards the child and the truck. 

There was no time to get out of the way. 

Time slowed. 

People screamed. 

Thumb firmly in his mouth, the toddler turned wide, brown eyes to Spencer. 

The horn blared again, too loud, too close. 

Spencer sent up a quick prayer and hoped the driver would not -- would **not** \-- swerve. 

He would only have one chance. 

Then he was diving, one arm knocking the child to the ground, other hand cradling the boy's head from the pavement. 

"Lie very flat," he said as firmly as he could, panting for breath. "Lie very still." 

A wall of heat rolled over them; Spencer felt the back of his shirt hit the bottom of the engine as it came to a shuddering halt just above them. 

"Hold very still." Spencer caught the boy's gaze, held it, tried to put calm and reassurance in his own. 

Above them, a door slammed. Voices rose in a confused babble. A woman -- the boy's mother, probably -- cried out for Charlie, begging him to answer. 

"Stay quiet, stay still, I have you, it'll be okay, I promise." Spencer kept talking, kept Charlie's focus until the pain and fright faded somewhat. 

"Sir? Sir!" The truck driver behind him, peering under the cab, frantic. 

"We're okay." Spencer raised his voice to be heard over the engine. "Shaken up some, but we're ok. Could you--could you pull the truck forward about fifteen feet? We can crawl out from under the trailer. Straight forward." 

"Yes, sir, right away!" He was gone, the gawking bystanders backing away from the truck a moment later as it shifted into gear. 

Spencer bit his lip at the sharp burn of the engine as it came too close to his back. Then the truck was moving again, rolling slowly, almost too slowly, forward. 

Cool air wafted over his back, but he waited, pinning Charlie to the ground with his injured arm until the truck came to another halt. "You okay?" 

Charlie nodded, then pulled a soggy thumb out of his mouth. "I want my mommy." His eyes glistened with unshed tears. 

"It's okay. You've got enough room to crawl out now. Go on," Spencer coaxed, hearing the bystanders surge back to the truck's perimeter, the cab door slam again. 

"Thank you," Charlie said, clumsily rolling over to all fours, shakily getting to his feet. 

Half-heartedly listening to the applause and cries of delight from the crowd and Charlie's mother, Spencer took a closer look at the boy, taking in the torn pants, skinned elbow and hand. 

Allowing himself a moment to gather his wits, Spencer shut his eyes and sighed, then pushed off the ground with his good arm, pulling his knees beneath him. 

Hands reached out, taking gentle hold of his arms, supporting him as stood. 

Adrenaline wearing off, Spencer dazedly looked around at the crowd, seeing people with cell phones taking pictures. Others were clapping, broad smiles and tears on their faces; a beat cop pushing his way through the crowd; the truck driver, apologizing for the near-miss, tentatively offering a bottle of water; an ambulance pulling up to the curb down the block; Charlie, clinging to his mother's leg, peeking around the truck's cab. 

A stranger held out his satchel, draping the strap over his arm as he reached out for it. 

"Sir?" 

Spencer turned towards the voice. 

"Sir, you're bleeding." 

"Oh my god." A woman's voice, then, not Charlie's mother. 

Others spoke up then, adding to the cacophony. 

Dimly, Spencer realized he must have torn his back open again. Or something. 

Then pain crashed into him and swept him away.


	54. Uncertain Empathy

"Shouldn't that be in the break room?" Morgan asked as he entered the pit, nodding at the box of donuts sitting on Emily's desk.

JJ smothered a laugh, only glancing up at him from the paper she was reading. Emily smiled and took a sip of her coffee.

Hotch turned, donut in hand, and shrugged. "What Gideon doesn't know won't hurt him. And good morning," he added as an afterthought.

"What _Gideon_ doesn't know? Gideon doesn't care! Who are you and what have you done with my boss? 'Cause the Hotch I know would have packed that box up and had it moved..."

"Hotch brought them in for the team," Emily explained. "We share the break room."

Somewhat mollified, Morgan glanced at Hotch for confirmation.

"It would have been cruel to leave them there with a note or something." Hotch picked up the box and held it out. "Here. Have one."

"Thanks." Morgan warily extracted one from the box, eyeing it as if he half-expected it to bite him. "Speaking of Gideon, shouldn't he be in by now?"

"Gideon's at the Martha Washington."

Morgan froze, donut halfway to his mouth. "The hospital?"

Hotch nodded. "Reid reinjured his back yesterday afternoon. They're keeping him hospitalized for a few days."

"What happened?"

"Someone needs to get that boy a cape and tights," Emily said, smirking.

"Listen. 'FBI Agent saves boy from semi, reinjures self,'" JJ read. "'One heroic rescue just wasn't enough for Dr. Spencer Reid, who was injured in a hostage situation this past Sunday. On medical leave, he went shopping yesterday afternoon and tackled three-year-old Charlie Dunham, saving the boy from being--Hey!" JJ stared at Morgan in indignation as he snatched the paper from her.

Dimly sensing someone carefully retrieving his donut, now forgotten, Morgan scanned the article, blood draining from his face. 

Concerned silence, confused looks and shrugs passed between Hotch and JJ and Emily.

Phrases stuck, whirling through Morgan's mind : '...within the speed limit...chasing a squirrel...minor injuries...scrapes and bruises," his mother, Tracy Dunham said.' He shook his head in denial. "No. This isn't happening, it's not..."

"You're welcome," JJ said blandly as Morgan thrust the paper back into her hands.

"Morgan?"

Morgan stared at Hotch numbly, eyes wide and wild. His breath hitched, heartbeat thundering in his ears. "I have to, there's something...She didn't tell me!" he finally blurted, backing away before completely abandoning dignity. He turned and ran, heading down the hall towards Garcia's bunker.


	55. Empathic Epiphany

Morgan skidded to a halt just short of Garcia's bunker, forcing himself into a semblance of calm. Running a hand over his scalp, he took the last few steps and knocked on the doorframe. "Garcia?"

"Morgan." 

He could hear the disdain, the raised eyebrow of irritation. "I know you're angry at me." A lady-like snort answered. "Just hear me out, just once."

"Just once."

"Look up Charlie Dunham's birth announcement. Chicago Tribune, February seventeenth, 2004."

There was a flurry of typing, then Garcia's mumbling as she read the announcement.

Then a gasp, and Garcia turned wide, shocked eyes to stare at him. "Charlie...If Reid..."

"If I hadn't broken up with Reid, he would have been here helping you with the Detroit case. You know he would." Morgan clenched his teeth and looked away for a moment before continuing. "He wouldn't have saved Charlie from that truck. He wouldn't have saved _my godson_ from being..."

Silence stretched between them for a long moment.

"You owe him."

Morgan nodded, swallowing hard. "I..."

Garcia eyed him suspiciously. "So, are you going to go get him back, or are you going to keep acting like an idiot and pretending you don't need him?"

"I'm tired of acting like an idiot," Morgan said softly, shaking his head. "It hurts too much."

"So what are you doing standing there?"

Morgan smiled; it had been too long since Garcia had graced him with her teasing and attitude. "I wanted you to know about Charlie from me...and I was hoping...I don't want to show up at the hospital empty-handed, and..." He stopped.

Garcia was holding out a familiar square package. A multi-disc jewel case.

Taking it gingerly, he turned it over in his hands. "What is this?" The labels were plain, hand-written in blue and purple ink.

"You remember Professor Hardiman? Reid was complaining--"

"--that he couldn't attend the new course he was teaching since he was working for the BAU, yeah, I remember," Morgan finished, dawning comprehension lighting his features.

Garcia turned back to her computers, tapping away at the keyboard in some unexplained task. "Well..." she started, dragging out the word. "I, Oracle of Quantico that I am, hunted down this Professor Hardiman and, using my most awesome skills of persuasion, got him to record his lectures and send them to me. Since, of course, Reid is one of his very favorite people in the world, as well he should be." She wrinkled her nose, grinning in absolute glee. "I've just been waiting...for an appropriate time."

"And Reid can't do much for a while. If there's a more appropriate time, I don't know what it is," Morgan finished. "Garcia, you're amazing."

Garcia sighed and sat back in her chair, a smug grin on her face. "I know."

"One more thing?"

"What's that?"

"Print me out a copy of that announcement?" Morgan pointed to the screen with his empty hand. "If Gideon--"

"Here you go." Garcia snatched a piece of paper from the printer and handed it to Morgan. "Do the others...?"

Morgan shook his head. "You can tell 'em, if you want." He saluted with the jewel case. "Thanks."

Then he was gone.


	56. World Wise

Feeling oddly like a recalcitrant child sent to the principal’s office, Morgan paused just outside the door. 

Gideon sat in the corner reading a book, backlit by the single window. Bouquets and gift baskets were lined up on the radiator and around the edge of the room as far as could be seen. 

A soft knock on the doorframe had Gideon looking up over the top of his glasses. The book was set aside as he got to his feet. “Come in, come in.” He ushered Morgan through the door. 

Fighting to keep from looking at too pale, too still figure lying in bed, Morgan stepped inside and swallowed. 

Taking pity, Gideon spoke up. “I was wondering when you’d get here.” 

Morgan’s brow furrowed. “When?” 

“Whatever made you break it off with Reid didn’t have anything to do with how you felt about him.” 

Teeth clenched at the reminder, at the sudden shock of pain and guilt, Morgan shut his eyes and looked away. “It wasn’t just me,” he whispered after a time. 

“What wasn’t just you?” 

Confusion and hope in his eyes, Morgan dared look back at Gideon. “Do you believe in fate?” 

Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Personally? I don’t know,” he admitted. 

Morgan held out the copy of the newspaper he’d picked up on the way. “Read the article about his rescue yesterday.” 

Eyeing the paper suspiciously, Gideon took it, turning to the article. He glanced between Morgan and the paper a few times, then adjusted his glasses and skimmed it. “Okay...and?” 

Morgan handed him a single sheet of printer paper. 

Gideon read it, blinked, looked closer, read it again. Then he held it up next to the newspaper and glanced between them. Color draining from his face, he looked back up at Morgan. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” 

Morgan shrugged. “I told Garcia on the way here.” 

“That’s not why.” 

Lips thinned, Morgan caught his breath in his throat. “Mark...Mark Dunham was my roommate in college.” He shook his head. 

“He knew about Carl.” Gideon didn’t ask. 

Morgan nodded. “I had nightmares. He...did for me what Reid’s been doing, badgered me into talking to him about it.” Swallowing hard, he looked up at the ceiling, as if it held answers. “He’s...a lot like me. If I’d introduced you, he would have...” 

“He would have made sure Hotch and I knew,” Gideon finished for him, keeping his voice soft. “Like you did for Reid.” 

A sharp, painful nod, then a tortured laugh. “They didn’t tell me they were coming. I guess it was supposed to be a surprise or something, but I would have taken time off to see them if they had.” He bit his lip, turning away, finally, finally looking at Reid. 

Reid lay silent in the bed, much the same as he’d been in his apartment a few nights before. Curled up on his side, back to the door. Only the hospital gown, stark white sheets, IV and monitors attached to his skin were different. 

“How is he?” 

Gideon tilted his head, almost nodding. “He’ll be fine. He tore most of the stitches in his back. Gave himself a few first and second degree burns, lost quite a bit of blood. The doctors were concerned about the possibility of infection, so they’re keeping him here for a few days.” 

“They’re keeping him sedated?” 

“Yes, for now.” 

“Good.” Morgan set the cd case on the table, sliding it between a bouquet and a small tower of foil-covered boxes bound in red and gold ribbon. He could only imagine who had sent all this stuff: stuffed animals, fruit baskets, the tower of whateveritwas, enough flowers to have wiped out Hotch’s extensive gardens. A bunch of helium balloons hovered near the ceiling in the corner opposite the door. “What in the world is he going to do with all this?” 

“I don’t know. I imagine he’ll eat some of the fruit and sweets and donate the rest.” 

“And give himself carpal tunnel writing thank you notes,” Morgan added. 

Gideon chuckled. “And that.” 

Morgan contented himself with watching the heart monitor on the wall, watching the slow, almost imperceptible rise and fall of Reid’s chest as he breathed. Behind him, he heard Gideon step back to the chair in the corner and sit down. 

Several minutes passed like that, Gideon watching Morgan watching Reid. 

Then, Gideon shook out the paper again. “I have a question.” 

Morgan made a humming sound deep in his throat, indicating his attention. 

“Usually godparents aren’t listed in a birth announcement.” 

“Legally he’s my godson,” Morgan said slowly, his voice distant. 

“Oh?” 

“Mark...found out he couldn’t have kids of his own a few years after he and Tracy got married.” 

Gideon stilled. “Charlie’s your son.” 

“He’d be dead if I hadn’t...let Reid go.” Indirect affirmative. 

“Yes.” Pause. “Yes, he would.” 

Morgan wrapped his hands around the guard rail, eyes trained on Reid’s pale face. 

“And now?” Gideon asked gently. 

Morgan bent his head, his knuckles turning white as pain lanced through him again at the thought of being without. “It hurts too much,” he whispered. “I want him back, Gideon, I don’t know how, I...can’t do this anymore.” Prying one hand from the bar, he reached out, brushing strands of sun-bleached brown silk from Reid’s face, tucking it behind an ear. His fingers skimmed Reid’s cheekbone before he could bring himself to pull back. 

Reid shifted in the bed, drugged sleep disturbed. 

Mortified at having woken Reid, Morgan stepped away from the bed. 

“Mrg’n?”


	57. Innocence Won

Voices in the background, muffled, soft and gentle. Trusted, yes, even loved; he was safe, let the heavy weight of drugs hold him under. 

He didn't want to wake up, didn't want to face the pain of his back, the pain of the hole left in his heart. 

Fingers tugged at his hair, familiar and agonizing, then brushed his face. 

Unable to deny the sweet ache, Reid fought his way through the drugged haze. 

"Mrg'n?" His lover's name was a mumbled blur of consonants. 

There was a pause, the sound of someone rising from a chair, the squeak of metal against linoleum. Then one of the voices distantly saying, "I'll leave you two alone, I could use a cup of coffee." _Gideon,_ his muddled mind whispered over the footsteps fading away. 

Morgan still hadn't spoken, hadn't acknowledged him; he had to be there, Gideon had-- 

"I'm here, Spence." The words were thick with fear and grief, and yes, pain. 

Spencer swallowed with difficulty, his mouth and throat dry from the sedative. "Der'k," he managed after, in recognition; they weren't Morgan and Reid here, weren't at work. Here, they were Derek and Spencer, but Spencer didn't know what they were now, what they were supposed to be. "Y'came." 

"Yes," and it sounded choked. "I'm sorry, Spence, I can't..." 

Spencer heard a sob, a swallow, ragged breath, the annoying squeak of rubber soles against the floor. The bed shook beneath him. "Back?" He didn't have the strength for more, had to trust Derek's ability to understand him half-asleep. "D'side, wnsee," he whispered. 

"Sure, Spence." The bed shook again; more footsteps, uneven and hurried. 

A gentle hand touched his face, brushing away the tear that had escaped without notice. Spencer opened his eyes with difficulty, lids crusted with sand and weighed down with exhaustion and drugs. "Y'ere." 

"Yeah, I'm here." Derek appeared haggard, half-panicked; there were deep circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, tears in his dark dark eyes, more trickling down his cheeks. 

He looked wonderful. 

"Stay?" Spencer asked; they both knew he was asking for more than this moment. His fingers twitched, pulled at the tape on the IV. 

Covering Spencer's hand with his own, as much as the IV would let him, Derek swallowed and ducked his head. "Not going anywhere, Spencer. Not this time." He paused, then forced himself to continue. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He looked back up at Spencer's watering eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry I walked away. That I pushed you away." 

"B'okay," Spencer answered. Then he tugged his hand back, struggling to shift himself to the side of the bed. "Nd'you." 

"Spence--" 

"Please?" He couldn't keep his voice from sounding thin and pathetic. 

Derek braced himself visibly, then nodded, unable to deny Spencer anything. Moving carefully, entirely too aware of Spencer's injuries, he managed to help Spencer make room, then eased onto the bed with him. 

Reaching out with his un-taped hand, Spencer patted Derek's bare arm clumsily. "Skn?" 

Derek laughed sadly. "I'm not stripping down for you, but..." He sighed and sat up, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it over one of the fruit baskets before laying down again, gingerly scooting himself as close to Spencer as he dared. 

Dropping his head into the crook of Derek's neck and shoulder, Spencer inhaled and made a pleased, purring sound. His hand seemed to drape itself over Derek's side, the IV board hitting the mattress and sending a jolt of distant pain up his arm. 

"Sleep, Spence, I'll be here, I've got you," Derek whispered, hot puffs of breath wafting over Spencer's ear and making him shiver. 

"N'go." 

"Promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those less fluent in sleepy, drugged Spencer (I'll skip Morgan's name, cause, duh!::flees::): 
> 
> Y'came. - You came.   
> Y'ere. - You're here.  
> D'side, wnsee - This side, I want to see you.   
> B'okay. - It'll be okay.   
> Nd'you. - I need you.   
> Skn. - Skin.   
> N'go. - Don't go.


	58. Sword of Logic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Evilution of Frank. This is the first story divergent from canon.

"Emily?" 

Emily glanced up at Hotch momentarily, then turned back to Garcia with a soft, "Just a second." 

Hotch nodded and sat back, watching as the two women hovered over Garcia's laptop and several small stacks of other equipment. 

Garcia's rapid typing died with a few sudden, harsh keystrokes. "There. We are cloaked and daggered." Grinning wickedly, she turned upward. "I'd like to see Batman try and break that," she told Emily. JJ gave her a mock salute from her position behind the couch. 

"You're setting up jammers in my house during a so-called housewarming party," Morgan stated in disbelief. 

Emily looked over to where Morgan and Reid were sitting on the couch, her expression cold and uncompromising. "I'm just glad I had a reason for us all to be here that wouldn't draw suspicion. Otherwise we'd be sitting in a hotel room somewhere." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Maybe." 

"What's all of this about? I know you and Hotch had interviews with Strauss--" 

A baleful glare silenced Gideon's curious inquiry; then Emily straightened, picking up a CD case and making her way to the entertainment center. She inhaled deeply, squaring her shoulders and bracing herself. "There's a line we all draw, at some point, between politics and loyalty. Ambition and trust. I'm drawing that line -- my line -- now." 

The knot that had been slowly forming in Hotch's stomach tightened, niggling suspicions growing concrete. "The line between you and Strauss." 

Emily nodded. "I didn't get here on my own merit. Oh, I tried, I worked my ass off to get here," she added with a bitter laugh. "I suppose I should have realized it when you didn't know what I was doing in your office, but I didn't, not until Baltimore, with the Chernus. My mother said something that tipped me off, and I thought maybe she'd whispered in a few ears, but..." 

"But?" Hotch dreaded the answer, but couldn't afford not to know. 

"She may have, and probably did, but she wasn't who, or what got me here. The truth is," and underneath the calmness then was a note of savage anger, "I wasn't assigned to your team to replace Agent Greenaway. I was assigned here as a Trojan horse." 

"I'm aware that Strauss wants to replace me," Hotch said slowly, ignoring the caught breaths of his team mates at that news, feeling Gideon's support from across the room. 

"She doesn't just...Here." Emily cut herself off and turned, inserting the DVD disc into the player and turning on the television. Backing up to the couch, she held out her hand and took the remote control from Morgan. "I want this job, more than I could possibly articulate. Working at the BAU, with you guys, is everything I've ever wanted, more than I ever hoped to have. But if having it means letting that--that---bitch use me like a marionette, then it's not worth it." She turned her attention back to the television and pushed play before anyone could react. 

The screen turned from plain blue to a view of Erin Strauss' office. A moment later, she began to speak. 

_"I put you in the BAU."_

"Jesus," Morgan whispered. 

_"I knew how badly you wanted it. Everyone did. You were never exactly shy about letting us know. But there were those who didn't think assigning you to the BAU was a good idea. They thought you were too reckless. I believed in you, however. It's time to pay back the faith I had. Your team is in trouble. They've lost sight of the big picture. I believe they are reckless and at times out of control."_

"I wondered why..." JJ trailed off, eyes wide in shock. 

_"It's time for Agent Hotchner's career to come to an end. And if you want to stay in the BAU, Agent Prentiss, you're going to help me make that happen."_

Emily hit the pause button then, but said nothing, staring at the floor. Silence dragged on for a long moment as she refused to look at anyone, hiding behind the curtain of her hair. 

"That BITCH!" Morgan surged to his feet and was halfway across the room in one motion, an explosive echo of Emily's earlier sentiment. "Goddamned slimy excuse...Never trusted her..stab you in the back..." he growled, half his words unintelligible. Then he laughed, tone dark and bitter. "Does she really fucking think Emily'd cooperate with this?!" 

Reid wasn't much better, on his feet, half watching Morgan. "She's using what happened to us--" He broke off incoherently, jabbing one finger viciously at the screen, before turning and pacing, muttering under his breath. "If she thinks that--that--" 

"This...this is why they've been going after all of us, isn't it?" JJ asked, eyes wide. "She's trying to use...to use...she can't DO that!" 

Gideon waited for the commotion to die down before speaking up. "There's more, isn't there?" 

Emily nodded, brushing her hair back, but still not meeting anyone's eyes. "I don't know if it's just her, or if other people are involved, but--" 

"I've been pulling security logs," Garcia added. "I haven't gone through them all, but what I have, what _we_ have, paints a pretty nasty picture." She shuddered delicately. 

"I need to call Haley and tell her to take Jack and go stay with her mother," Hotch said quietly, pulling out his cell phone. 

"Um." 

Hotch paused and glanced up at Emily. "Did you want to add something?" 

"I guess now would be the time to tell you I already had Haley take Jack and her mother out of town. They're on a plane to Jordan. Your brother Sean's on his way to St. Petersburg, Russia." She swallowed hard. "I didn't know who's involved in this, or how far they'll go, so I thought it'd be best to get them as far out of reach as possible." 

Hotch could only stare, listening to the stunned silence from the rest of the team. 

"Sir? If there's anyone else I need to arrange protection for--" 

"Wait. You sent my family overseas with what, next to no warning?" 

"I've spent almost my entire life overseas, sir. Enough time to make some very powerful friends. I just called in a few favors." She shrugged, hugging her arms to her chest uncertainly. 

Watching as Emily fidgeted, Hotch thought about what might have otherwise happened to Haley, and Jack, and even Sean and Haley's mother. If Emily hadn't gotten them to safety, he would have had to. He owed her, and had to wonder what Emily had done to earn the kind of favors this had to be costing her, and if he wanted to know. Finally, when Emily was all but ghostly out of anxiety, he nodded. "Thank you." He turned back to others. "Ideas?" 

Another long pause, this time to let tempers cool. 

Morgan was the first to respond, nodding at the television. "I say we watch the rest of that, just to see what we're dealing with aside from the obvious." 

"We should probably start figuring out who'd want you out of the FBI, and who has the connections for this," JJ added. 

"Anyone with a grudge, and that'd be a long list," Reid put in. 

"Emily, I hate to ask this, but..." Gideon started, then continued at Emily's nod of acceptance. "Is there any chance your mother might be involved in this?" 

Emily shook her head. "No. Absolutely not. She'd be outraged to hear about this." Something in her tone begged Gideon not to ask for more explanation. 

"Do you think she'd be willing to help?" Gideon asked. 

"She would, but...if it's at all possible, I'd prefer that be our last resort." 

Gideon smiled. "Of course. Of course." 

"Hotch?" 

"Yes, JJ?" Hotch twisted himself around so he could see her. 

"Granted we're going after anyone and everyone involved in this, but what exactly is our goal? I mean, it'd be a huge scandal for the FBI, and maybe some other organizations." 

"True. It depends on exactly who is involved, but I think we can press Strauss, at the very least, into early retirement." 

"Counter blackmail?" Reid said, eyebrows drawn together as he thought the concept over. 

"Rather poetic, don't you think?" Morgan's eyes glittered with malice. 

Hotch nodded. "Emily, you'll probably have to pretend to cooperate with Strauss' plans. We'll help you however we can, but we can't go in there with you." He paused, remembering a similar conversation that had gone much differently. "Are you up for this? We can figure out something--" 

Emily interrupted. "Sir, I'm up for whatever you need me to do. That's why I planned this 'housewarming party'," she finished, sarcasm thick in her voice at the last. "Besides, I already started that much. You'll see in the video." 

Hotch nodded, a small smile quirking his lips. "I should have known better." 

Smiling wryly, Emily turned back to the television. 

"And Emily?" 

Emily glanced back at him. "Sir?" 

"Call me Hotch. You've earned it."


	59. God's Will in Earnest

Emily sighed, staring at the legal pad in front of her. The list of names didn't trigger any more. She probably wasn't the best person for this job, but JJ and Garcia were turning one of the spare bedrooms into a version of Garcia's bunker at the office, Hotch and Gideon were both making phone calls, and Morgan was in the backyard with Clooney, trying to calm down. Reid --

\-- slid a bottle of beer across the table to her. Starting a little, she barely dropped her pen in time to catch the bottle and keep it from tipping off the edge, spilling beer all over the carpet. "Thanks," she managed, picking up the drink and saluting Reid with it.

"You're welcome," he answered. "Getting anywhere?"

"I feel like I'm beating my head against a brick wall," she answered, frowning at the list she'd made as if it were at fault.

"Hey, it's just a starting point. No one expects you to be perfect." He smiled and shrugged. "Besides, you already took the first step. None of us are ever going to forget that."

"What, that I'm playing my future against my past? Hotch is innocent. I owe him, I haven't trusted him enough to believe in him." Emily shook her head. "I don't know why you put up with me for this long."

Reid took a practiced swallow from his own bottle before answering. "Why? I mean, yeah, it was rough those first few months, but you've been with us over a year and a half. If Hotch or Gideon had a problem with you on the team, you wouldn't be here anymore."

Emily shook her head. "That's not what I mean."

Reid just raised an eyebrow and tipped his beer bottle back again, waiting for her to elaborate.

"I wanted this job, so much that I...I was willing to do whatever I had to to keep it. I know I made things...hard for you, in particular." Pausing, she took a deep breath, steadying herself. Thankfully, Reid didn't interrupt. "I'm trying to apologize."

"And I'm trying to tell you that's not necessary." Reid shrugged. "It takes two, and it's not like I didn't know what was going on. No, I wasn't happy with it, but I knew my worth to the team. You didn't."

"But--"

"If it makes that much difference to you, I accept your apology."

Emily couldn't answer, just opened and closed her mouth several times. "You make my brain hurt," she finally said.

Reid laughed. "Emily, I know the rest of the team treats me as if I can't fight my way out of a wet paper bag, but really, I'm not helpless."

"No, you aren't, that's for sure." And she took a huge gulp of beer. Taking one last look down at the list of names, she scowled and tossed it to the end of the table. "I can't get anywhere else with that."

"So? We'll give it to Gideon or Hotch when they've got a free minute."

They sat in silence then, comfortable, companionable, intimately aware of the tenuous, growing bond of trust and friendship that the night had forged. Emily had wanted it too much before, tried too hard to get it, tried to protect herself.

"I know...I don't really have the right, but do you mind if I ask a question? Something's been bugging me for a long time." She took another quick swig of beer, wiping her chin where it splashed. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Ask." Reid's eyes were too bright, too...just plain happy, for what seemed to be the eve of the Apocalypse.

"When...when Tobias had that gun pointed at you, and you were trying not to get one of us killed..."

Reid's entire body had tensed at the mention of Tobias' name; Emily couldn't miss the flinch, the sudden wildness in his eyes.

"Reid?"

He shook his head, forcing his muscles loose enough to finish the bottle of beer in one long swallow. "Go on, s-sorry."

"How could you play the odds like that? Were you just trying to buy time to think of what to tell him? He could have killed you." Emily shuddered, crossing her arms over her chest and rubbing her shoulders.

"P-part of me wanted him to," Reid said, his voice tiny, meek. The way he'd spoken after he'd been rescued. "Part of me j-just did, didn't care."

Emily swallowed hard against the knot of guilt in her throat, unable to answer.

Then Reid shook himself, faded remnants of trauma sliding away as he got to his feet, picking up the empty beer bottle to take back to the kitchen. "I'm gonna go get another beer. You want anything?"

Shocked to her bones, terrified for Reid, for herself, for the team who'd become Reid's family, Emily heard her own voice from a distance. "Whiskey, please."

"Sure." And then he was gone, easy footsteps sounding against the hardwood floor.

_Reid had been suicidal._

The statement whirled round and round inside her skull.

Then, dully, other thoughts injected themselves.

_Hotch didn't know. Gideon didn't know._

_Morgan didn't know, either._

_Why would he tell me?_

A hand caught in her hair, pulling tight against the scalp. Her own, she vaguely recognized, trying in vain to come to terms with this new information.

 _Why would he tell me?_ she asked herself again.

_Because I'm not close enough to them to be able to break his confidence._

_Because he's testing me._

There were footsteps coming back, coming closer, and she pried her fingers out of her hair, smoothing it down.

_Why would he be suicidal?_

Emily wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to that question; she knew it was probably why Reid had gone for more liquor, to prevent her from asking.

"Here," Reid said, his once too-bright eyes now shadowed as he set the shot glass in front of her.

Nodding in thanks, she set her nearly empty bottle down in favor of instant drunk. After the beers she'd had, it would only take this shot, maybe one more, and she'd be out for the night.

_Please, God, please, let it just be this one._

Shutting her eyes against the images assaulting her, against the coming burn of alcohol, she lifted the glass and slammed it back. Liquid fire slid down her throat, down her chin in thin rivulets.


	60. Earnestly Seeking Wisdom

"Sir?" Emily knocked on the open doorframe and waited to be acknowledged. 

Gideon looked up at her over the top of his reading glasses, then straightened. "Come in, come in. Close the door behind you," he offered mildly. 

Once inside, protected by a closed door, some of Emily's usual composure melted away. She paced slowly towards the desk, hugging herself, a vaguely shocked look in her eyes as she looked around the room. 

"You haven't been sleeping," Gideon said, noting the deep circles beneath her eyes no concealer could hide. 

"Not enough. And when I do..." She swallowed convulsively. 

"Having nightmares?" 

Emily turned, haunted gaze pinning him in place. "If you want to call it that." Then pain and anxiety washed over her, making her flinch and break eye contact. 

Then, before Gideon had a chance to question further, Emily laughed bitterly, an explosive burst of sound. "I shouldn't even be here talking to you," she muttered. 

"Is there someone else you'd rather talk to?" 

"No, I mean, I shouldn't be talking to anyone about this." 

Gideon spread his hands in acceptance, nodding. "You're welcome to say as much or as little as you like about it." 

"I was talking with Reid the other night, and...and..." She swallowed again, walking around the edge of the office. "I remembered watching him on the computer screen, in that cabin, and wondering what was going through his head when Hankel was trying to enforce God's Will." 

"You asked him." 

Emily nodded. "I asked him how he could do that, to play with his own life...I wasn't...expecting his answer." 

"And it's giving you nightmares," Gideon guessed. 

She nodded again, slowly. "I can't tell you what he said." Fear and regret lay thick in her voice, as if she knew she would be better off repeating those brief words, but the act of speaking would break something inside. 

"So tell me what you can." 

"We missed something," she said simply. "We watched on that laptop screen as Henkel hurt him, as he tried to help us find him...but we didn't see everything." Her hands came up, half reaching for something, clenching into helpless fists before dropping back to her sides. 

"You think Henkel did something to him we don't know about?" 

"I don't know. It might be something before then, it might just be that he made a mistake and got himself kidnapped and JJ traumatized, I just don't know. I don't even know if it matters any more!" Emily took in a ragged breath and finger-combed her hair out of her face. "To be brutally honest, I haven't been able to ask myself what, exactly, we missed. Just whether or not I want to know." 

"It's a lot harder to deal with a friend and coworker as the victim than it is someone you'll never have to talk to again, isn't it?" Gideon pointed out kindly. "Our minds are programmed to avoid damaging information. It's not something you should be ashamed of, or disregard." 

She shook her head. "That's only part of it, I know if I thought I...I'd know, it wouldn't be hard to figure out." She glanced up at him, self-loathing in her eyes, in her expresion. "But I know, I know it's not something he's talked about. With anyone, not even Morgan." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "That scares me." The admission was a painful, harsh whisper. 

"And you're not supposed to tell anyone about it?" 

Emily ducked her head, hugging her arms to herself. "He's testing me, Gideon, he knows I'm not..." She inhaled deeply and tried again. "I've been too caught up in trying to prove myself, to protect myself. I don't have the kind of friendships here I'd need to be able to talk about it. He knows that." 

"Or," Gideon argued, "he's not comfortable telling one of us about what's been bothering him directly, and would rather we find out from someone else." 

Emily thought that over for a moment that stretched into minutes. "No, I can't. I'm only just now earning his trust, I can't break it like this. Even if it is to help him, it would..." 

"It would damage something," Gideon finished for her. "It's all right. I'm pretty sure I know what's going on. I appreciate you bringing it to my attention." 

That was a dismissal, not an order, but one she could take as an escape route. Emily shook her head. "You knew already, didn't you?" 

"Not this part, no. I had some idea, but..." Gideon shrugged. "There's only so much I, or any of us, can help him without having all the pieces. And I didn't have this one." 

Emily nodded. "I just don't want to see him...like Morgan, in Chicago. Before." 

Gideon frowned. "Before?" 

She laughed helplessly. "Before, we knew almost nothing of his past, before college. He didn't talk about it, none of us pushed for answers. But after Chicago, after learning..." She swallowed, unable to finish the sentence. "It's like...he was hollow before, all of his courage just bravado. He's, I don't know, solid now, more real, more just plain human." 

"And you don't want to see Reid like that?" 

"I don't want to see him the way Morgan was, pretending he wasn't hurting." A bitter smile twisted her lips. "I may not be able to help him, but..." 

"That doesn't keep you from wanting to try," Gideon finished. There was something dangerously close to pride in his eyes. 

"No, sir, it doesn't."


	61. Earnest Truth

"Come in, Agent Prentiss, have a seat." 

Buoyed by her team's support, and the knowledge that the entire situation was ending, Emily did as she'd been told, pausing to slide a CD case onto the desk before she sat back in the offered chair. 

"Is that all?" Strauss kept her eyes on Prentiss as she picked up the case, turning it over in her hands. 

"That's everything you'll need, ma'am. Agent Hotchner won't be a problem for you anymore." Prentiss suppressed a grim smile of satisfaction. 

Pleased, Strauss looked down at the CD. "Thank you." She glanced back up. "Care to elaborate on what's on here?" 

"It's pretty self-explanatory. I don't think you'll have any trouble with it." Prentiss rose, smoothing the line of her jacket down. 

"I'm sure you want to get back to work. Be assured, I'll remember this." 

"I'm sure you will." Prentiss turned towards the door, but paused, hand on the knob. 

"Was there something you wanted to add?" 

"Actually, ma'am, there was." Bracing herself, Prentiss let some of the bitter anger, the loathing she held for Strauss seep into her gaze. "You may have appointed me to the BAU, but you had nothing to do with keeping me here. That was all up to Hotch." 

"Meaning?" Strauss raised an eyebrow. 

"Take my advice, ma'am. Resign before Hotch decides to send a copy of that CD to someone else. Like the Attorney General." 

Strauss' eyes narrowed. Her lips thinned in anger. 

"Ma'am, you tried to blackmail me into ruining an innocent man's career. If I hadn't been able to nail you on it, I would have warned him and resigned myself. No matter how much I wanted this job, it's not worth sacrificing my integrity for." Dropping all pretense of civility, she turned back to face Strauss squarely. "Hotch is giving you the opportunity to retire with your record and your reputation intact. I suggest you take it." 

"You--" 

"Ma'am, I've called myself every name in the book for just thinking about going along with this assinine plan of yours. The important thing is, I didn't. I'm not. And I know my worth to the BAU." Her hand tightened on the doorknob. "Don't expect outside help - we know who's involved in this, and they're getting the same choice you are." 

Strauss was red in the face, half out of her chair, the CD case gripped in white-knuckled fists. "You--you--" 

"Good day, ma'am, I have work to do."


	62. Earnest Victory

Footsteps echoed off the concrete porch, light and feminine and vaguely familiar before shifting to the swish-swish of well-manicured grass.

Emily sank deeper into the slatted bench, letting the warm hardwood take more of her weight in its comforting curves and wishing it had as much effect on the disquiet in her mind as it did her weary body. 

"Mind if I join you?"

"It's your house," Emily said flatly, sweeping an arm out to the rest of the bench, the empty one opposite. She wondered idly if Haley were the best person she could have asked to try and coax her back inside, or the worst.

"If you'd rather--"

"No, no, sit. If you go back inside, Morgan'll take it upon himself to drag me back in there."

Haley studied her for a long moment in the dimness, the night brightened only by the reflected porchlight, and the picture windows open to the evening breeze. "You make Derek sound very..." She searched for a word as she took a seat on the other bench, where she could see Emily and the windows both.

"Morgan has a personal rule against profiling his friends," Emily said, hugging herself as if against a chill. "It makes him ignore a lot of body language that even someone without the training would pick up on."

"In other words, he's a guy."

That startled a laugh out of Emily, and she instinctively relaxed. Not entirely, but enough.

"They miss you in there," Haley offered once the amusement faded, leaving only crickets and the distant barking of a dog to cover the laughter and too-loud discussion drifting unintelligible from inside.

Emily tilted her head, smiling small and bitter. "You're supposed to say I'm missing the party."

"Derek tried that one. Penelope told him it was your party, you can cry if you want to."

Swallowing hard, Emily looked down at the grass. Sometimes she wished she _could_ cry. "It just...doesn't feel like we won."

Haley remained silent, watching as Emily bent and pulled a handful of grass through her fingers, snapping a few leaves to inspect them closely.

"Strauss is gone," Emily continued, the name spat like an epithet. "But we have no guarantees - none - that whoever replaces her will be any better."

"Better the devil you know?"

Emily nodded. "It's not even...I don't know, I'm not making any sense. She tried to ruin Hotch, and she got to keep her reputation and her good name and, and..."

"And there's no acknowledgment. No punishment. No public outcry."

"Just politics as usual." Emily stood, tossing the blades of grass spinning to the ground as she stepped towards the house, the golden glow through the windows too much a flame to ignore. "I hate politics."

Wood creaked, releasing the stress of weight upon it as Haley rose to follow; she stopped, still behind Emily, and slightly to one side. "Whether or not it feels like a victory, it was one."

"For Hotch maybe."

"No, Emily. For you."

Something fragile and far too close to the surface trembled, something she could not afford to touch.

"Erin Strauss spent decades playing politics, building a career through alliances and favors and backscratching. She has to live with the humiliation of being outmaneuvered by someone far younger, with far less experience, no political ambitions, and who refused to so much as play the game. And she has to do it knowing that if she tries to fight back, her house of cards will fall."

"It wasn't my victory."

"You're here. She's not," Haley argued. "Emily, no one is saying you did it alone. You had help, that's a given. But none of them could have done anything without you. Hell, none of them would have known there was a battle to fight if you hadn't had the courage and the integrity to stand up for Aaron. He doesn't forget things like that. None of them do."

"If Strauss hadn't put me--"

"If it hadn't been you, it would have been someone else. Someone who might not have had what it takes to keep your team in one piece."

Pain knifed through her, sharp and raw; old wounds tore open to bleed anew. The thought of someone, some nameless, green agent betraying Hotch for their own gain made breath catch in her throat, eyes glaze red with fear and rage that anyone, _anyone,_ would **dare--**

"Emily."

Achingly familiar numbness replaced the anger, burying deep the rising behemoth of her own demons, a darkness she could not face. "She put me there," Emily found herself saying, unsure why.

Haley nodded. "She took that choice from Aaron. She took the assurance of it from you."

"Yes," Emily whispered, the s drawing out into a long hiss. Closing her eyes, rejecting the comforting image of her team through the window, she quietly acknowledged to herself what Strauss had done to her, adding all the pieces together: her own having at last felt like she'd earned her place, Strauss' interview, the discovery that she hadn't earned her way at all...

It had been a kind of rape.

The kind she couldn't prosecute. The kind that would lurk in the shadows, making her doubt everything, making her question her position and her strength and the bonds of...

Emily shook herself, raising her head, knowing she couldn't show weakness. Not here, not to Haley.

Haley moved forward, stopping beside her to see through the window Reid, Garcia and JJ on the couch, Hotch and Gideon standing behind it. Morgan sat on the floor, Reid's legs trapped behind him, a children's book in the hand not clutched in Jack's as the toddler leaned against his chest. "I knew before I married him that Aaron built family out of his friends. He's the kind of man that 'Friends are the family we choose for ourselves' was written for. When he was studying to be an attorney, I knew he'd be the difference between a victim being lost in the system, or continuing the cycle of abuse, or becoming a criminal, and rebuilding their life, being a reason why Aaron had to keep doing his job. I knew he'd be the shoulder they'd cry on, their first line of defense in the courtroom."

Listening, both to Haley's quiet description of everything she already knew about Hotch, and though she could not understand the words, to Morgan reading to Jack, Emily held her tongue. 

"The courtroom wasn't enough for him. There was too much fluidity for him to find the kind of support he needed, the kind he still needs. He spent too much of himself trying to repair damage that couldn't be, and joined the FBI instead."

Emily watched as Gideon put a proprietary hand on Hotch's shoulder. Hotch looked up and smiled, lopsided and relaxed. It was a punch in the gut, hearing Haley narrate, and seeing things she had no right to even consider.

It made too much sense, answered questions she hadn't been aware of having, and she couldn't even say for certain she wasn't...

"Haley?" Her voice rasped in her throat, scratchy and thin; she couldn't bring herself to turn away from the window, couldn't look Hotch's wife in the eye. Any more than she could bring herself to ask if she was seeing something real, or just a figment of her imagination.

"Aaron and Jason and I have an understanding. It works for us."

Not her imagination. And not something she had to hide, or even deal with. The shadows at the edge of her vision receded a little.

"Aaron has too big a heart to only have me, or me and Jack."

"I--I don't, he's not..." What was Haley trying to say?

"Aaron's made a family for himself, the kind he wanted as a child and never had. He's turned friends into siblings, aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews. He even brought home a son."

Emily had nothing to say to that, could not refute Reid's place in the Hotchner household. Any more than she could deny her jealousy.

"I don't know what Aaron is to you, Emily."

_Only everything I ever wanted to be._

"I don't know what happened to you to make you close yourself off."

Something small and desperate started clawing inside.

"If I'd had to guess, it probably has something to do with politics."

Emily couldn't breathe.

"I don't know how to make you believe me, but you have a family here. They can help you, but you have to let them."

"Why are you--" Emily croaked out.

"Because I look at you and I see Aaron, years ago, hurting and lonely and breaking. Because he came to me and told me he'd found his soul's reflection, and he didn't trust anyone else to help you piece yourself back together." Haley paused. "Because Aaron doesn't give his trust and loyalty lightly. He doesn't take just anyone into his family. And whatever the circumstances were in your joining the team, you earned your place in his heart."

Emily wanted to argue, but couldn't. She'd once seen Haley put the entire team in their place, Gideon included.

"I don't know if the voice that drove you out here tonight told you that you don't belong in there, or that you don't deserve it, or something else entirely." Haley sounded entirely too knowledgeable about it. "But I can tell you it was wrong. I can tell you that you're missed, that the people in there won't feel whole until you go back in and join them."

Hollow and aching inside, Emily watched as Morgan closed the book, Jack looking up and asking for another. Jack squealed happily and picked a book from the proffered stack, then said something that Emily couldn't understand, but made the rest of the team laugh and Morgan look chagrined. A moment later, Hotch nudged Gideon gently and slipped away.

"You look like a homeless orphan watching Thanksgiving dinner," Haley said softly.

The comparison was entirely too apt. Everything Emily had ever wanted, everything she couldn't have was in there. The jealousy and envy tearing her apart were enough to chase her away before bitterness took hold. Between Morgan and Reid, and Hotch's picture-perfect marriage, and the chance she couldn't bring herself -- couldn't afford -- to take... She swallowed hard, again wishing she could give in to the urge to cry.

A hand landed on Emily's shoulder, broad and masculine; she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Hotch's voice was pitched low, almost intimate out of respect for the open windows. "Why don't you ask her out?"


	63. Reluctant Generosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occurs a few days after Earnest Victory.

"Aaron?"

Aaron grunted.

"Aaron," Haley said again, tugging the newspaper out of her husband's grasp. "What's wrong?"

"Emily," Aaron answered without thinking, then stopped and blinked.

"Color me surprised," Haley said with gentle sarcasm.

"JJ came to talk to me about her." He stared at the wall, eyes unfocused.

"And?"

"Emily is nothing if not professional. Polite, well spoken, creative, resourceful..."

Haley smiled sadly. "And beneath that so-professional exterior, she's broken beyond belief."

Aaron's lips thinned to a white line.

"Aaron, it wasn't your fault. And it's not your job to--"

"If I don't make the effort, then who will?" He shook his head. "I'm not a miracle-worker, I just...Every time I think 'this is it, this is the real Emily Prentiss', she says something, or does something and I realize it's just another layer."

"You're right about that," Haley said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "She's the most closed-off person I've ever met." She laughed a little. "And that's saying something."

Aaron only raised an eyebrow at the jab. "What do you think happened to her?"

Haley lowered her gaze to her mug. "You work with her."

"So? You've met her often enough to have an opinion."

"I'm not qualified to make that kind of judgment call."

"Haley, you know that's not true..."

"I was a high school counselor, Aaron, that's hardly--"

"A high school counselor with a doctorate in psychology."

"You know why I never went into practice, Aaron," Haley said quietly.

Aaron shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "Yes, I do, and I'm grateful for that. I still think you should at least volunteer for the crisis hotlines again."

Haley glanced up, then looked away, pushing her chair back to walk halfway across the kitchen.

Aaron waited for an answer that wasn't forthcoming, then offered, "I have my theories about what happened. But I've been turned upside down and inside out, and I can't do anything if I don't know --"

"Rape, but you knew that, with as sexually... closed off isn't even the right word. Barricaded. Ready for a siege. Probably by someone she trusted, someone she looked up to." She stopped, sipping her coffee.

"And?"

"And -- political, if I don't miss my guess. Ambassador Prentiss was involved in some kind of cover up, even though I'd bet quite a bit that Emily spent a significant amount of time in the hospital, afterwards." Haley turned to glare half-heartedly. "Happy now?"

"No, not really." He watched as Haley stood there, arms crossed, fingers digging into flesh. "How old do you think she was?"

"Thirteen? Fourteen? Early enough that she was uncertain of her own sexuality." She took another gulp of her coffee, holding the dark liquid in her mouth for a long moment before letting it trickle down her throat. "So. How close did I get?"

Aaron turned to stare at the wall again before he answered. "Every day I go into the office, and I see her, and she's got this look in her eyes, like she's begging me to prove to her I'm not going to stab her in the back. And every day I ask myself how the hell I can prove a negative."

"And yet, if she didn't, she might not have been strong enough to turn the tables on Strauss."

"No," Aaron said softly, bitter realization making his eyebrows twitch. "If she hadn't, she wouldn't be there at all."


	64. Earnest Appreciation - Part 1

Emily glanced up from the hideously expensive arrangement: white rosebuds, some edged with pale blue; baby's breath, tiny specks of white thick in fist-sized clouds, enough to give the impression of fog; silver-green ferns, and not the normal wide-leafed variety, but soft and feathery, sticking up in spikes that begged a touch; all in an obviously hand-blown glass vase, complete with jewel-toned fish swimming among the stems. There hadn't been a card. "What?"

Morgan reached out, running a thumb delicately over the edge of a velvet-soft rose petal. "These are gorgeous."

"And?"

"You aren't curious who sent 'em?"

Emily laughed a little in wry amusement. "It doesn't matter, I'm already taken."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, pointedly not looking at JJ as she walked into the pit, stopping behind Emily with a grimace for the flowers. "So if Brad Pitt sends you flowers, you aren't even going to take a second glance?"

Snorting at the ridiculous suggestion, Emily shook her head, then shrugged. "JJ's prettier."

JJ choked and turned bright red.


	65. Earnest Appreciation - Part 2

The roses had been moved to the conference room. Out of sight, out of mind, or so Emily had hoped. That, and because they were taking up too much room on her desk.

This morning, a box wrapped in plain silver paper and dark blue ribbon sat waiting for her.

"You gonna open that?"

Emily tugged reluctantly at the shimmering spirals, letting them spring back into shape. Her lips thinned in irritation, but she didn't answer.

"Hey, you okay? This isn't some stalker after you, is it?"

"Morgan, I don't know. This only started yesterday, and I don't feel like I'm being watched." Impatient hands tore the ribbon off, the thin coils discarded in the trash can. "It's probably someone trying to get an in with Ambassador Prentiss."

Morgan frowned. "I thought--"

Emily glanced up, hands stilling on the package, nails caught beneath the paper's overlap.

"Nevermind."

The paper tore and fell away from the box, all pretense of neatness abandoned.

"Damn, girl." Morgan let out a soft whistle as Emily lifted the lid, carefully removing the packing material to expose the contents. "That's some buttering up."

"What is it this time?" JJ's voice was tight, angry as she entered the bullpen.

Emily's breath caught, hand tightening on the box. Then, silently reminding herself she wasn't at fault, she picked it and the lid up and turned, tilting it so JJ could see the Swarovski logo emblazoned in silver across the velvet blue box.

"Open it."

Blindly passing the lid off to Morgan, she pulled the last layer of tissue paper aside, displaying the glint of crystal and gleam of polished granite.

Fury sparked JJ's eyes, her lips going white as she stared at the crystal panther nestled securely in tissue and styrofoam. After a long moment of rapid breathing, she let out a long sigh. "No card?"

Emily shook her head mutely.

JJ glanced at the door to Hotch's office, closed to the bullpen. "I'll let this go today. You get another...whatever...and we're going to talk about this." As a team, she didn't have to add.

"It's probably just--"

JJ wouldn't let her finish. "I don't care."

"I'm not being stalked, JJ, I'd know if I were," Emily shot back in irritation. She felt Morgan go stiff beside her, the bumped chair smacking the edge of her desk.

"Do you know that?" Suspicion sharpened the anger in JJ's voice.

Emily couldn't answer.

JJ raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one foot. "Well, then." She glanced back up at Hotch's office door, as if debating the wisdom of leaving it alone, then pivoted on her heel and left.

The tension didn't ease until JJ's footsteps had faded down the hall and around the corner. Then, Emily's shoulders dropped, hands loosening on the box as she turned back around and set it on the desk, mindlessly replacing the molded styrofoam atop the sculpture.

Morgan turned the lid over in his hands. "JJ's too angry to see straight right now-" he began.

"No kidding," Emily snapped.

Keeping both tone and expression nonjudgmental, Morgan ignored the interruption. "--but if you ever want to talk about what happened to you, I'm all ears."

Emily finally met his eyes as she accepted the lid from him. "I'll keep that in mind," she said blandly, dropping her gaze to the box as the lid slid into place.


	66. Earnest Appreciation - Part 3

Morgan's expression of grim sympathy slowed Emily's normal morning entry into the bullpen to a crawl. One quick glance to her desk and she found herself looking warily around the office, then behind her back into the hallway for JJ.

Reid sucked air in through his teeth hard, making a startled hissing noise. "I don't think I've ever seen JJ as angry as she was when that was delivered," he said, gesturing to the flat box sitting on Emily's desk.

Remembering the day before, Emily winced.

"Hotch is talking her down." Morgan tilted his head towards Hotch's office; JJ was visible through the window, posture stiff and unyielding.

 _That would explain why that door was closed,_ Emily thought to herself. "Any idea...?" she asked.

"This one's got a card," Reid offered. "It could be jewelry, but given the expense of the roses and the sculpture, it would probably have been packed in a velvet case, and this one's plain cardboard."

"Meaning..."

Morgan laughed ruefully and shook his head. "Meaning you should open it and find out. At least you'll know what you're dealing with when Hotch drags us all into the conference room."

Emily's shoulders slumped, and she rubbed her forehead briefly, feeling a headache coming on. "I hate this," she muttered, finally reaching her desk and staring down at the unwanted gift.

"You could put an automatic refusal on deliveries." Reid's suggestion was tentative.

"JJ."

"What, you think she's going to make this into some kind of competition?" Morgan asked, then had to laugh at himself. Of course she would.

"I dunno, deep pockets versus actually knowing what you like." Reid gave a small lopsided smile. "Seems a pretty lopsided battle to me."

"Guys, this isn't helping."

"Neither is stalling," Morgan pointed out gently. "You're running out of time."

"Did I mention I hate this?" Emily muttered as she prized the envelope out from under the ribbon. She slit the top neatly with a fingernail and pulled out the card, feeling Morgan and Reid's eyes on her.

"What's it say?" Reid asked once she'd read and set it down, the stiff white paper face down.

Emily shook her head. "It wasn't signed." The ribbon snapped with one swift jerk, the silvery coils tangling in Emily's fingers before being dropped off the edge of the desk.

Morgan and Reid glanced at each other warily.

"I'm not an UnSub here, guys," Emily snapped bitterly, flipping open the box to rifle through the contents with careless fingers. She had to jam the lid down to get it to close.

"No, but you're about as irritable as JJ was earlier," Morgan offered. "What is it?"

"Tickets."

Reid frowned. "To what?"

Emily shrugged, sinking into her chair. "I don't know, and I really don't care."

Morgan reached forward, maintaining eye contact with her as he dragged the card close enough to pick up. Still, he waited for Emily's small nod of permission before turning it over.

Emily took a deep breath, bracing herself.

"Emily, I'm not Reid, but this?" and Morgan sent it spinning back onto her desk, "is _not_ from someone trying to get an in with the Ambassador."


	67. Unwanted Resources

Static filled Emily's mind, the conference room going shades of washed out grey before her eyes, her teammates' voices echoing oddly from a distance. Half aware of the concerned glances, the tolerant ignorance of her unexplained silence, she listened as Garcia laid out price ranges and possible sources for the flowers

"--a hundred and fifty to two hundred for the vase--"

_"Beware of gifts - they're always courtship, bribes, or apology."_

_"Or all three," she replied, her child's voice high and too serious._

_"Or all three," her mother agreed._

Breath caught in her throat as she banished the memory, reaching out to pick up the Swarovski box. Her hands dug under the flap, pulling it open, the styrofoam packing ejected like an over-large sugar cube to split open and leave crumbs across the table. The polished granite was cool and soothing under her fingers, her nails tracing the crystal facets in time to Reid's explanation of traditional meanings behind the roses and baby's breath and ferns.

"--white rosebuds signified girlhood, while white roses were for innocence, purity, secrecy, silence, and charm, depending on the source--"

 _'white roses and ferns and baby's breath, innocence and fascination and sincerity and shelter - god DAMN where's my shelter you bastard--'_ Emily thought to herself, trying to drown the words with the roaring in her ears, to bolster defenses that had lasted two decades only to be chipped away now when she had things to lose. She was too close, too attached; the walls she had built strong and thick had grown worn, thin in places, letting the murk of her past to threaten.

Those walls were under attack now, from a few gifts and her partner's fear.

"--top of its food chain. It's a symbol of power, maybe he's putting the ball in her court?" 

Morgan's voice became the demon inside, lashing out with one massive paw; the last time she'd been this close to the edge--

_"I don't know what happened to you to make you close yourself off."_

_'I had to! I had to, I didn't have a choice, I wasn't given one!'_ Fingers tightened on crystal. A nail skidded across, squealing; quiet fell, a trading of worried glances and the sudden return of talk, discussion flowing around her.

"--tickets, season tickets to, uh, pretty much every major and minor league sports team within fifty miles, theater, symphony, opera--"

_Everything hurt. Her limbs were weighed down with exhaustion. Each breath was a struggle. Light burned into her eyes. Monitors beeped._

_What happened? Where am I?_

She felt Morgan's gaze on her as he read the card aloud, her own eyes trained on her hands.

"--no longer have the privilege of knowing what you like. Still, I hope you can enjoy the use of some of these."

_"I don't ever want to see him again." Her voice shook, wracked with pain and wheezing._

_"Emily, you're making a mistake--"_

_"It's what I **want."**_

"--whoever it is, is trying to apologize--"

_"I look at you and I see Aaron, years ago, hurting and lonely and breaking."_

She couldn't break, couldn't afford to. Breath shuddered in her lungs.

"Does the date mean anything to you?" Hotch's voice, soft and coaxing from a million miles away.

Her own, bland and bleeding, answering without her consent. "No."

 _'Liar!'_ the demon screamed, lashing out again, ripping at the protective barriers in her mind. The walls her team had taken hammer and axe to with words and worry.

"--someone hurt you?" Gideon then, already knowing the answer. Probably had since the day she joined the team.

_"We can't afford to prosecute, Emily. It would be a political nightmare," her mother said, eyes filled with pained determination. "It could start a war." This was her job._

_'It already has,' child-Emily didn't say._

"Emily?" 

JJ's hand crept over hers, catching on styrofoam pellets, hot as a brand across ice-cold skin. She jerked back, granite thudding against the table, eyes snapping up to see Hotch watching her.

"We can't help you--"

"You're right," her demon interrupted, using her voice. She watched, listened, unable to hide from the flinching, the pain as her friends, her family recoiled. "You can't help me."

Then she was stumbling out the door, panther left behind as her chair bounced off the edge of the table, her hands biting into the stair rail.


	68. Adapting Logic

The conference room was disturbingly quiet; JJ had finished presenting the case, but the normal brainstorming didn't fill in the gaps afterwards. No one seemed willing to break the silence, too busy staring at the photographs, all too vivid memories of brutality painted glossy in blood and suffering.

"Six. It took six bodies for them to realize--" Morgan protested in disbelief. 

"Six bodies, six counties, three states. It's not all that unusual," Gideon rumbled.

Reid frowned. "Given the nature of the killings, I would have expected..." He rubbed his forehead, unable to continue. He was not going to be the one to point out the obvious, he just wasn't.

"Considering the stigma attached to this type of violence, we're lucky the survivor's willing to talk to us," Hotch murmured.

Emily tilted her head, glancing between the ID photos. "This guy certainly has a type," she said, avoiding eye contact with anyone, particularly Reid.

"Yes, he does," Hotch answered, a twisted grimace on his lips. The pictures showed lanky, awkward frames, all limbs and joints, dark blond hair and hazel eyes.

"Hotch?" Reid's eyes were glazed, unfocused. "I'm not going undercover for this one."

"Understood." 

Tension bled from the room at Hotch's curt affirmative, only to be replaced by confusion. It was JJ who spoke up, questioning. "Hotch?"

"Yes?" Hotch glanced up, steel in his eyes, all but promising retribution if she protested.

JJ gulped. "Um, nothing, sir." 

Hotch nodded. "Wheels up in thirty. Reid?" 

Reid couldn't suppress a shiver.

JJ met Emily's gaze as the younger woman left the room, sighing at her rueful expression, then turned to slowly gather the photos and papers back into the folder. Quiet conversation became background noise as she put the case back in order.

"You don't have to go with us."

"I--I'm okay, I just." Reid stopped, unable to look at Hotch.

"Hey, Reid." Morgan stood, reaching out and brushing his lover's arm with one hand. "You gonna be okay out there?"

 _What the hell?_ JJ forced herself not to react. Every instinct she had was screaming at the sheer wrongness of the situation. Reid always volunteered to go undercover if he had the slightest chance of fitting what the UnSub wanted. He usually insisted on it, as he had with Bryar on the train.

Hotch nodded, taking a step back as Reid moved easily to Morgan's side; there was nothing in the embrace they shared but comfort and understanding and the soothing of Reid's ragged nerves.

_Now he was refusing, before having a chance to be asked? Before we even know if it would be possible to use him as bait?_

Gideon stood, eyes still on Reid and Morgan, and clapped Hotch on the shoulder before leaving the room.

_What the hell had changed?_

The stack of photos in her hands clicked against the tabletop. Hotch flipped open his cell phone and hit speed dial.

_What did they all know that I..._

"Garcia?" Hotch's lips didn't twitch with the threat of a smile, no hint of sparkle in his eyes. "Reid's going to be--Yes. As many different kinds as you can. Sub-dermal, too."

 _Tracking devices._ JJ couldn't help the involuntary shudder, couldn't keep her hands from freezing mid-motion.

Reid could hear Hotch, and not only didn't protest the fact that he was being tagged, he actually relaxed, sinking farther into Morgan's arms.

 _The only time I would have wanted him to...was when...in Marshall Parish,_ JJ thought to herself in dawning horror. The last time Reid had gone undercover was before. Before Hankel.

Hotch met her eyes across the table, still on the phone with Garcia, still pointedly not looking at Morgan and Reid behind him.

JJ swallowed, bitter knowledge knotting her gut. She knew Hotch could see it in her eyes, knew that moment of sickening realization was painfully clear on her face. The only thing she could be grateful for was that it was Hotch, and not Reid, or even Morgan, who was watching her recover.

Reid wasn't afraid of death, not here; they'd already established that the UnSub didn't kill his victims directly. Shock, bloodloss and exposure did.

Reid was refusing to put himself at risk of becoming the Unsub's next rape victim.

Because he'd already been Hankel's.


	69. World Like Sunlight

"Fuck me."

Morgan's eyes widened at the vulgar order, hearing the fear and panic driving it. "Reid--let me get you back to--"

"No, no, here, now, I need--" Flinching with each flash of memory, Reid all but danced across the conference room, bumping into one of the chairs as he shuffled awkwardly, shoulders hunched and fists clenched over his ears. He swallowed, mouth falling open again as he panted raggedly, desperate for air.

"Spencer!"

Reid twisted into the edge of the bookshelf, looking up wide-eyed and wild for a moment before becoming lost in a slew of memories again. "Fuck me fuck me fuck me."

Growling in frustration and anger, Morgan made himself close the distance between them, grabbing Reid's arms and pressing him back into the wall. "Open your eyes. Open!" he barked, afraid of what he'd see there.

Lips still forming the mantra 'fuck me', words barely audible on a whine, Reid obeyed, opening haunted brown eyes, and blinked, trying to focus.

"Stay with me."

"Need you, need to know, know I'm-I'm here, here with you and n-not, not--" Another flashback took him away again, tilting his head back until he hit the wall.

Fighting himself, fighting Reid's past, Morgan shook his lover, fingers digging painfully into Reid's arms. "Okay, okay. Reid, stay with me here."

"Mmhrgh." Awareness flared, melting into a rough kiss.

"Hold on." Morgan grit his teeth, trying to batter his way past years of scars, Reid clinging to him. Assuring himself that Reid was steady between his own body and the wall, Morgan let go, hands working at belt and fly, pushing at the loosened waistband. "You still with me here?"

"Hurry, please," Reid whispered into his neck. "Hurryhurryhurry..." His pants fell unnoticed to the floor, underwear following.

"This is going to hurt," Morgan warned softly, ripping at his own belt and jeans one-handed, the other fishing a packet of lube out of his pocket. _'Hotch, you and me are going to have a serious talk about this later...'_

"I know. I know, please, just. Fuck me!"

That made something inside Morgan recoil and shy away; he shoved it aside for later. "Okay. Here we go." Jeans and boxer-briefs were peeled to mid-thigh. Sending up a very unholy prayer that his normal reaction to Reid - to Spencer - surviving a close call hadn't failed him, Morgan tore open the lube and slicked himself, then urged one of Reid's legs up over his hip. "Ready?" He had to ask, could feel every flinch, could sense every memory that swept through his lover's mind - Dowd, Hankel, Garner, Bryant...

"Now. Do it now."

 _Oh hell no._ Rough he could handle, not... Morgan tilted Reid's hips, drawing his body closer in, slipping one, then two fingers inside and stretching.

"Derek, now!" The plea was hissed through clenched teeth. His jaw relaxed minutely as Morgan shifted, fingers sliding out.

"Look at me," Morgan rumbled, leaning harder, pinning Reid against the wall.

Reid let himself fall, hooking his other leg over Morgan's bent arm. "Fuck me."

"I'm right here."

Taking the hint, Reid inhaled sharply, shifting and arching his back as he felt Morgan's erection nudge at his opening.

Trembling with the effort to support his lover, Morgan pushed forward even more, feeling Reid's body protest the intrusion, muscles spasming as he sank deep.

Reid whimpered, nails digging into Morgan's back as his body fought to adjust, flashbacks fading under the onslought of burning discomfort, the jagged shards of pleasure skittering up his spine.

"Tell me when," Morgan growled, focusing on the relief, the increasing here-with-you in Reid's eyes as the panic and fear slowly calmed.

"Mmmnk." Reid folded in on himself, around Morgan's shoulders, whuffing into his neck.

Morgan concentrated on breathing, counting heartbeats, keeping his legs from giving out on him, and not the hot-slick-too tight clutch of Reid's body wrapped around his dick. "Reid, I can't--" Morgan started finally. The rest of his warning was never voiced.

Startled, Reid jerked back, the angle of penetration changing and making him convulse, arms and legs clamping down.

Breathing ragged, trying desperately to stave off orgasm, Morgan sent up another unholy thanks as Reid went from 'don't look, don't want to know, I am so going to kill Hotch for this' to 'need to come now, thank you, goodbye' in no seconds flat. He rocked his hips, unable to move much. "Reid..."

"Yes, please, more..." Reid tilted his head, nuzzling at Morgan's jaw and leaving damp stripes across dark skin.

"'s about time. You woke up. And joined the party," Morgan murmured against Reid's lips, fingers digging into Reid's thighs, adding support and leverage to each tiny thrust. He kissed Reid hard then, swallowing any attempt at apology, letting his stranglehold on control fade.

Desire washed over them both, lifting them up in a surge of close-call survival instinct. Echoes of gunshots, chloroform and blood and pure distilled evil, the expression on Hotch's face as he'd stared down at the dying UnSub flashed past, transmuting into sheer need that screamed.

_You're alive. Prove it!_

Shockingly quiet sounds were traded between fused mouths, small moans and whimpers and growls all but drowned out by the hiss of fabric on skin, the thump of shoulder against wall, the wet sucking as Reid's back peeled off the wall a moment later.

Reid broke first, the warmth of his orgasm staining his own sweater vest and Morgan's t-shirt alike; Morgan followed almost instantly, locking his knees in an effort to keep them both upright as pain-edged pleasure swept over him.

"Nnnnrnk," Reid mumbled into Morgan's shoulder, panting shallowly.

Morgan shifted, humming a questioning response, taking note of the wince Reid couldn't quite hide. "Easy," he cautioned as Reid tried to straighten, one leg tensing to unwrap itself from Morgan's hip. "Hang on a sec." Bracing himself, he pressed Reid into the wall again, lifting slightly so he could withdraw.

Neither of them could ignore Reid's gasp of pain.

Morgan looked stricken. "I--"

"Don't you dare, I asked, I begged for that, it's what I wanted," Reid insisted softly, steadying himself on his own two feet only to wrap himself around Morgan again in a comforting hug.

Unable to deal with what he'd done, Morgan buried his face in Reid's neck, hiding, locking away the dark pit of guilt and self-loathing he knew he could not afford. Not now, not with the rest of the team due back soon, with the cops outside wondering what was going on. "We're going to be a mess leaving here."

Reid choked off what sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"What?"

"No, we're not."

Morgan twisted, still clinging to Reid as he turned to look at the rest of the conference room.

Two ready bags sat on the table, next to the black case Hotch kept their clean-up/first aid kit in.

_Oh, yeah, Hotch is so going to answer for this._


	70. Controlling Compassion

Hotch reached out unerringly and snagged his cellphone from the nightstand, flipping it open in the darkness with a practiced flick of his wrist. "Hotch here." 

A strange clicking sound cut the silence, the sharp **thwock** of a tongue grating against the palate.

"JJ?" Caller ID had displayed her number. "Is there something wrong?" 

"Hotch...I..." Her voice was tight, strangled, and Hotch knew she'd been crying. 

Hotch sat up in bed, the comforter and sheets falling to his waist. Haley stirred beside him, her hand twitching against his free arm. "JJ?"

"I'm sorry, I--" She cut herself off again. 

"Where are you? I'm going to come get you." 

"'m...on the hood...," JJ gasped. A mumble followed. 

A knot took up residence in Hotch's gut. "Just a second." He swung himself over the edge of the bed and stood, acknowledging Haley's whispered, "I'll go make some coffee," with a distracted nod as he crossed to the front window. A quick peek out beyond the edge of the curtain confirmed his suspicions. 

JJ's car sat in the driveway, JJ herself curled in a fetal position on the hood, phone clenched in her fist. 

"JJ, hold on, I'll be right down." Hotch waited for JJ's choked affirmative before hanging up, then pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Shoes were ignored in favor of haste. 

When he got there, JJ was shaking, tufts of hair sprouting in odd clumps from between her fingers. "Come on inside." Moving slowly, he rested a hand on her shoulder, waiting as she slowly uncurled and slid off the side. 

"I, I'm sorry," she whispered. 

"JJ, you need me, I'm here. That's what makes us a team." Hotch watched in concern as JJ wrapped her arms across her abdomen, hunching her shoulders. "Come on, Haley's making coffee and we can talk about whatever's bothering you." 

JJ laughed bitterly, the sound quickly changing to a sob. "How can you stand it, Hotch?" she asked, stumbling up the stairs. 

Hotch caught her, hands gentle on her arms. 

Meeting his eyes for the first time that night, JJ tilted her head back stubbornly. "Did you see? Did anyone? Did all of us miss--" 

"JJ." 

JJ frowned, but turned and went inside, pausing only to glance back at Hotch as she crossed over the threshold. 

Moments later, they were settled on the couch, JJ with a knit throw tucked around her shoulders. 

"You asked me how can I stand it. What do you mean by 'it'?" 

"Knowing. Morgan was...I can't even bring myself to say it. And, and I heard what you said to Perotta. And watching Hankel - any of them - torture Reid on that damn computer screen..." JJ's voice trailed off, and she paused to accept a mug of coffee from Haley. "How can you stand knowing, and knowing you didn't know? That you didn't even see...?" 

"I keep asking myself that. I have for a very long time." Hotch shrugged, accepting his own mug of coffee and a kiss on the cheek from his wife; Haley tactfully withdrew and went back upstairs to give them privacy. "I tell myself that the only ones responsible for hurting the people I care about are the UnSubs. I make sure that my team knows I'm not just their boss, I'm their friend, and I'm here if they need to talk. I protect them from whatever I can, and try and forgive myself for what I can't." 

JJ laughed harshly, the look in her eyes tortured before she lowered her gaze to her lap. "I was there, in the conference room...watching everyone's skin crawl, knowing everyone was seeing Reid in those photos. I saw Reid all but jump out of his skin when he saw...I picked that case because I knew the other teams wouldn't--that it wouldn't be personal for them. That it wouldn't mean--" She choked on a sob, brushing her hair back with a trembling hand. "And then Reid tells you he's not going undercover, and I'm standing there wondering what the hell I missed. Why you and Gideon and Morgan looked like you wanted to carry Reid off and lock him in some ivory tower. And then--and then I, I remembered the last time. The last time he'd volunteered to go undercover, and realized...and you looked at me..." 

"JJ?" Hotch said her name quietly in the tiny space left by a sip of coffee. 

"You have to know, Hotch. You have to know, I never would have picked that case if I'd, if I'd..." 

"JJ, if you'd known, you'd have avoided every serial rapist case we've taken since then, just on principle. It's how we all are about Reid, but it's not what he needs from us." Hotch paused to sip his own coffee. "He just needs us to be his friends, and not to treat him like fine china." 

"After this one, I don't think I'll be able to choose another rapist case for a while." 

Hotch nodded. "I don't think the team will blame you. I already talked to Merrick about it." 

JJ stared down into her coffee cup, watching as the dark liquid swirled around and around. "It was Raphael, wasn't it?" she asked finally, sniffing. "I mean, he talked about Charles, and Tobias, but...he only ever mentioned Raphael making him choose. Nothing else. Nothing we, we didn't see, nothing he couldn't..." 

"Yes." 

"Why didn't we see? Why didn't I see? We got there too late to do anything, and I hugged him, and...He didn't flinch, or hesitate...There should have been something, some sign..." Tears glazed her eyes and she closed them, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

"We dont know...everything. We don't even know who knows what, so it makes talking about it rather complicated." Hotch grimaced as JJ flashed him a twisted smile. "I'm only telling you this on the condition you don't talk to him about it." 

"'s why I'm here and not...Besides, Morgan would kick my ass for asking." 

"Maybe." Hotch finished his coffee and set the mug down on the table with a dull thunk. "The current working theory is that Raphael knew that Reid's gay. Raping him wasn't meant to physically injure him, only make Reid...unable to connect with another man." 

JJ stiffened, staring in shock. "Hotch, I've dealt with rape victims post-attack, we all have. Maybe not this long-term...but I've never seen or even heard of anyone recovering the way Reid did, the way he has. If Raphael meant it as psychological torture, then--" 

"There are...we think...reasons why he hasn't reacted the way we'd have expected him to." 

"There have to be, I mean, I told Morgan way back in the beginning that I thought Reid might have been back in college, but this is like, like..." 

"None of us give Reid nearly enough credit for his ability to cope." 

"I, I know, but..." 

"JJ, he wasn't just using vocabulary games and Bible studies. This is just an opinion - mine, and Gideon's - but we don't think the actual rape was more than an...intellectual awareness. Reid knows what happened. But...Toby gave him an hallucinogenic. And Reid's memory is perfect, you know that. We count on it in the field." 

"You mean he let himself imagine it was Morgan making love to him." She waited for Hotch's slow nod of affirmation before turning away, fighting tears of rage. "Does Morgan know?" Her voice was gravelly. "Does he--he knows, doesn't he? That's why you had me arrange that trip back south. I'd wondered." 

"Morgan needed the freedom to get angry." 

"I noticed, Hotch, he took two cases of ammunition with him. Two cases." She brushed a tear from her cheek. "How, I mean, if you don't mind my asking, how'd you find out?" 

"You know how their relationship first started." 

JJ nodded. "I remember." 

"Reid had a nightmare about...not the actual rape, but. before. And talked in his sleep." Hotch pressed his lips together until they were a thin white line. 

"Talked? Not--" 

Hotch shook his head. "No, it wasn't a screaming nightmare. And to be honest? I don't think anyone else would have figured out what he was talking about. If Buford hadn't done what he had, Morgan wouldn't have either." 

"So Morgan talked to you, Gideon went to take care of Reid, Morgan went back to Marshall Parish...was anyone ever going to tell the rest of us?" 

"JJ, we don't know who knows what. We don't know if Reid's been talking to Garcia, but I'd bet on her knowing at least some of it. Beyond the basics. Emily didn't want to know." 

"Well, she does now," JJ interrupted. 

Hotch nodded, spreading his hands in acknowledgement and surrender. "It was Reid's story to tell. Unfortunately..." 

"Unfortunately, hiding this kind of thing from profilers? Not going to happen." She frowned into her coffee, now grown tepid. "Why didn't I see it? Why didn't I figure it out? Morgan may have told you guys, but he didn't figure out...all that other stuff from a nightmare. He would have put an end to it as fast as he could, anyways." 

"Reid may have been hurt worse, but he wasn't the only victim. You had other things to worry about--" 

"Hotch, Reid is--" 

"--a member of our team, and we were so focused on finding him and then taking care of him you had to take care of yourself first. It's nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, the rest of us should be ashamed we didn't give you more attention than we did." 

"I shot three dogs. One of them bit me. That's all that happened." Her tone dared Hotch to contradict her. 

"Perhaps." Hotch paused a few heartbeats. "Did you think I didn't notice how nervous you were afterwards, even with Clooney?" 

JJ swallowed. "Were? Still am. I'm working on it, but a rational fear of dogs isn't much compared to what Reid went through." She hugged herself, the throw jutting over the edge of her mug just below her shoulder. "What he's still going through." 

"JJ, Reid has support, all the support he can accept at the moment. You can't let that--" 

"Hotch. Please. With all the horrors we face out there, the monsters wearing human faces, all the trauma, kidnappings, putting ourselves in harms way, baiting the UnSubs, everything we go through to lock these people up..." She licked her lips, eyes glassy with the edge of shock. "All I do is get up in front of the cameras. Talk to the families. But. The team? I never would have thought it, with everything, but. We have. A Before. And an After. And the farther back the Before is, the more I, the more we, find out what happened in the Between. And the harder it is to cope with. I never thought I'd say it, but I understand what happened with Elle. I understand what she was thinking, how she could make that choice. And if that bastard hadn't tried to go after Reid? If he hadn't been obsessed with, with..." Her knuckles were white now, fingertips digging into her arms through the thin cloth of her shirt. The words were whispered harshly, her face veiled by unkept hair, knotted by fingers running through it. "I can't sit here and tell you it would have ended any other way. I can't tell you I wouldn't have...done the same thing. That he wouldn't be just another body in the morgue, with my bullet in him." 

"That's why we're not taking rapist cases, JJ. Not until all of us - all of us except for Reid - can sit here and say 'it's not personal.'" 

JJ looked up, quiet desperation, despair and a banked memory of rage on her face. 

"You weren't the only one who shot him. And it was justified." Hotch spoke calmly, no surprise on his face. "JJ, you're not Elle. You're not going down that road." 

Giving an unladylike snort, JJ broke eye contact, leaning forward to set her mug down on the table before rising and pacing the room. The knit throw fell to the couch. "Only because he's already dead. Because they both are." 

Hotch got to his feet and followed, hovering behind her as she stood in front of the window. Their reflections stared back. "No. Because you came over here and talked to me." He rested his hands on her shoulders, brushing bare skin with his thumbs. 

JJ didn't pull away, just turned to face him. "You never answered me. And I don't want to know, but I think...I need to." Visibly gathering herself, she breathed raggedly through her mouth, then licked dry lips. "Was I wrong? Was Hankel the first...?" 

"No," Hotch answered, too much compassion in his eyes for anything but the truth. "No, you weren't wrong." 

It was too much. Tears spilled down her cheeks, heaving sobs following all too quickly. She shook her head, wiping childishly at her eyes, her face a mask of twisted grief. 

Running his hands slowly down her arms, Hotch pulled gently, and was gratified when JJ took a tiny step forward and leaned into him, her hands scrabbling at his chest and twisting in the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He gathered her into his arms, curling himself tight around her as if he could hold her together by sheer force of will.


	71. Protective Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 8-12 months past the current run of OI&E, i.e., the whole fiasco with the end of **The Evilution of Frank** has been resolved (in some fashion). Gideon has been at his 'new'-since- **The Fisher King** cabin in Montana for a while. 
> 
> This was an experiment in writing form (dialog only).

"Hotch?" 

"Jason, it, it's--" 

"Haley." 

"..." 

"Did something happen to Aaron?" 

"He needs you." 

"Haley--" 

"I can feel him, Jason. I know about his father." 

"Haley--" 

"He never told me. He never had to. I can feel his need to control, and what it takes for him to not take it." 

"..." 

"It was bad enough after you left, but you had to take care of yourself first. But I, we, have Jack now, and I can't take us both away from Aaron right now. It would break him. I have to ask." 

"Are you afraid of him?" 

"No, God no, Jason, I don't even know how you can ask me that." 

"Haley." 

"Not yet, at least." 

"When?" 

"If I knew when you were going to be back, when you and Aaron would be back in the field...but..." 

"But?" 

"He needs you. He needs you now, whatever it is that you give him, because I can't. He needs me and Jack, too, but it's different. He's missing something I can't give him." 

"Haley, Aaron told me the rules years--" 

"The rules mean jack shit when it comes to Aaron's sanity, Jason." 

"..." 

"Jason, please. I made the rules, I'm repealing them. He needs it." 

"It's that bad." 

"Bad enough that I bought him a ticket to Helena tomorrow." 

"You really think that--" 

"I really think that we both love him, and that we both want what's best for him, and that this is the only way either of us is going to be able to live with ourselves." 

"Does he know?" 

"He's not so far gone that I can't push his buttons, Jason, he'll be on that plane." 

"You're sure about this." 

"Yes." 

"What time's his flight get in?"


	72. An Inking of Empathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after _Controlling Compassion._ For some odd reason, Taddpole (my muse) decided to send the whole team, plus Haley and Jack, to the beach for a long weekend of relaxation. This is one small scene. It may well be classified as crack!fic.

"No, Spencer."

"Why not? He's dead to the world, Derek, he drove the whole way here, and was up almost all night with Jack. Haley says he'll be out for at least another couple of hours, and he's got sunblock on."

"He's not you."

Spencer's stubborn glare turned soft. "I know, but he's your friend. More than that. And I've seen, I've seen you--I'm saying this all wrong." He looked down at the plastic box in his hands, playing with the catch. "You know why we're here, more than just what we told Merrick. We all need to, to heal. There are a lot of old hurts between us, as a team, you know that."

Derek bit his lip at the reminder, looking away, feeling the sand and grit sting against his calves.

"We all know what lurks beneath the surface. We ignore it, we dance around it, we pretend it's not there, but we've all seen the damage. There's only so much time can heal by itself if we aren't willing to work at it and admit to it and..." Spencer took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"And me and Hotch have had more than our fair share of dust-ups."

"I, I think Aaron tries harder with you than with anyone else," Spencer answered, stressing the use of their friend's first name. "I know he knows the significance. And I couldn't think of a better way to wake up than--"

"Spencer, don't go there." Derek sounded amused, half warning and just the barest edge of aroused.

Spencer held out the box, waiting patiently until Derek took it with great reluctance. "If he doesn't like it, we're at the beach. It washes off."

Derek sighed, his gaze unfocused and wistful, a vague mix of fear and anticipation in his posture. The box in his hands rattled as he moved down the beach, bare feet plowing small furrows in the sand.

Haley looked up from her book and smiled at his approach, then glanced down at her husband's sleeping form spread out on the towel next to hers. Aaron's pale skin gleamed softly from the sun and lotion, his back rising and falling with the slow rhythm of slumber.

"D'you--" Derek gestured weakly with his free hand, not knowing how to ask.

"Go ahead, he won't mind."

Derek knew from experience that, outside of a few specific triggers, Aaron slept through anything. He only hoped being drawn on wasn't one of them.


	73. Logical Lines

Sand shifted beneath Aaron, conforming to his body through the thick towel, the odd edge of a broken shell pushed down or aside until there was nothing left but comfort and the sun's heat radiating upwards.

Haley's presence was nothing but soothing, even as she occasionally dragged him up from the depths of sleep with a soft brush of fingers against his shoulder. It helped, being able to hear the rest of the team: Emily, JJ and Jack building 'the world's coolest sandcastle' as proclaimed by Penelope; Derek and Spencer splashing in the shallows, returning to donate handfuls of shells to the construction efforts; Jason's voice strong and clear as he sang over the strains of music on the radio, drifting out from the kitchen of his bungalow.

The last pulled Aaron closer to awareness, but only briefly.

~~~

 

Distant arguing, Spencer and Derek, their voices low-key. Spencer plaintive and coaxing, Derek protesting in futility.

Sometimes Aaron wondered why Derek bothered.

~~~

 

The temperature difference between full sun and the stripe of shadow Derek cast over him was faint, almost negligible.

The knot of nervous hope and fear Derek was trying to contain wasn't.

Haley's softly-spoken permission made something inside relax; it couldn't be serious.

A plastic box rattled as it was pressed into the sand.

Aaron forced himself back to sleep, suppressing the urge to cry.

~~~

 

Flick. Flick flick flick dot dot flick. A pen nib skimmed across the skin, the side of Derek's hand brushing Aaron's side.

~~~

 

Pools of warmth spilled from where Derek's hand rested on his left shoulder, tiny lines fanning out over the right as Derek hunched over him.

Feathers? his subconscious asked groggily, trying to decipher the end product.

Aaron ignored it. Derek was touching him, casual and intimate. Not like a lover - even half asleep, he could recognize that what Derek was doing wasn't anything like what he did with Spencer - but as a trusted friend, held close and precious.

~~~

 

A calloused thumb swept across the small of his back, slick with ink and sweat drying tacky in the sun.

~~~

 

Broad-tipped markers now, thick lines of damp smudged with careful fingers. Wide arcs across a shoulderblade, and contour lines down the left side, slightly off-center.

Caps shut with a too-loud snap; others opened almost silently, a return to the fine-tipped pens that tickled and soothed both.

~~~

 

Some tightly coiled inner tension loosened, the space between sleep and wakefulness becoming more fluid as his surroundings changed in some small but important way.

"What's going on?" Jason's voice came soft and curious from somewhere ahead of him.

There was a quick, wet slurp as thumb was removed from mouth. "Unca Mohgan dwawing on Daddy," Jack answered, drawing a smattering of gentle laughter from the rest of the team; apparently Aaron had become some kind of odd performance art.

"I can see that."

"You'll get to see when I'm done--" Derek started, bland and faintly irritated.

"-or he wakes up, whichever comes first," Emily, JJ, Penelope and Spencer chorused. 

The knowing look Haley and Jason must have traded then was all too easy for Aaron to picture.

He wouldn't wake up until Derek was finished.

~~~

 

The intense attention broke like a building thunderstorm, some intangible pressure vanishing as the last pen was capped and tossed back in the box. 

Aaron waited, not wanting to be mistaken.

A plastic latch snapped shut, the box lifted from its cradle in the sand as Derek's shadow gave way to late afternoon sun.

"Can I get up now?"


	74. Painted Logic

"Do not," and Derek paused to catch his breath, the whites of his eyes still showing a little, "tell me you've been awake this whole time."

"No, I've been dozing on and off since before you started. Now, are you done with me or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, you can get up." He sounded nervous again. "Why didn't you tell me you were awake?"

Aaron lurched to his feet, his coordination shot from lying still all afternoon. One foot caught in the towel, digging it into the sand. "Because you would have stopped." There was so much more he wanted, needed to say.

"Oh my god," Penelope murmured, shocked. "No, no, turn back around."

"Why didn't you tell anyone you could draw?" JJ asked, approaching warily to get a closer look.

Derek snorted. "I can't."

"I beg to differ," Emily said.

"Penelope?" Aaron put in before the conversation could degenerate further.

"Yeah?" she managed through her distraction.

"Take pictures."

"Oh! Of course."

Aaron could only be thankful that she hadn't added a 'sir' to that. "Someone want to tell me what I have on my back now?" he asked dryly.

"It's gorgeous, is what it is," JJ said.

"I'll try," Emily offered, getting closer, but trying to stay out of Penelope's way.

Silence descended.

"On the right side, Lady Justice stands atop a cliff, depicted as an angel with her wings spread behind her. Her sword is sheathed at her waist, scales at her feet with the chain hanging over the edge. Her blindfold rests in her hands as she gazes into the distance, off to the left," Emily started, low and even. Her hand reached out, not quite touching Aaron's back. "Below her, an eagle?" She glanced over at Derek and continued at his nod. "Sits on a nest.

"The left side shows a sunset, or sunrise, I'm not sure which, at sea. The moon is a huge crescent high on the left shoulder, and there's a gentleman sitting in the curve with a pair of binoculars, watching another eagle catch a fish. In between," she paused again, taking a deep breath. "The sun's half hidden behind the cliff, surrounded by wispy clouds."

"It's a sunrise," Derek muttered quietly, embarrassed.

"Hmm. That makes sense." Emily swallowed. "Penelope, move." She drew closer, all but squinting at the detail. "There's writing in here," she added, one finger just shy of tracing lines only she could see.

"What's it say?" Jason asked.

"Hang on." Emily took gentle hold of Aaron's arm, turning him so his back was toward the sun. "Damn, you write small."

Derek mumbled something under his breath.

"Here. 'It is the spirit and not the form of law that keeps justice alive,'" she quoted, running her finger up the outside edge of one of Lady Justice's wings.

"Earl Warren," Spencer said.

"There's more?" Haley stood, coming to peer over Emily's shoulder.

Emily huffed a laugh. "There's a lot of stuff in here. It's like playing Where's Waldo, only you're looking for the whole football team. Next one: 'Nothing is so strong as gentleness, and nothing is so gentle as true strength.'"

Everyone looked over at Spencer.

"What?"

"You aren't going to tell us who said that?" JJ asked, smiling.

Spencer ducked, scratching his head. "That's St. Francois de Sale. I thought it was uh. Kind of well known?" That got a chuckle.

"I play?" Jack asked hopefully, then stuck his soggy thumb back in his mouth.

Emily turned. "You want to find a quote in here? No, wait, I got it," she said, stopping Aaron as he started to kneel. "C'mere, Jack." She held out her arms, scooping him up and resting him on her hip. "We're looking for itty bitty letters, like the ones along the wings, okay?"

"Why Mommy have wings?"

Aaron made a choking sound, shoulders shaking.

"Um. Did I not mention that?" Emily tried to sound innocent.

"No, you didn't." Aaron might have sounded dazed. Or amused. Or...something.

"Lady Justice bears a striking resemblance to Haley. The gentleman birdwatching from his perch on the moon? Is, um." And Emily glanced to the side. "Jason."

"Anyone else I should know about?"

"Um. Maybe?"

"Mowe letters," Jack said, pointing to the water, inked in ripples of blue and violet and crimson.

"'Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak. Courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen,'" Haley read.

"Sir Winston Churchill," Spencer added.

"You drew his profile?" Jason asked Derek in confusion.

Stricken, Derek actually took a step back.

"No, he didn't." Aaron spoke up before Derek could go on the defensive. "It's more like a personality portrait." He held Derek's gaze, trying to convey acceptance, understanding.

Derek swallowed hard, nodding.

"Can I go on now?" Emily asked. "Thanks. 'Family isn't about whose blood you have. It's about who you care about.'"

Spencer laughed, leaning on Derek's shoulder for support, unruly hair hiding his face.

"I take it whoever said that is rather interesting." Haley smiled.

Penelope giggled. "Trey Parker and Matt Stone. South Park," she added at the confused looks.

"I didn't want to put that cliche, 'Friends are the family we choose for ourselves,'" Derek explained.

"Still gets the point across." Emily's shoulders twitched.

"Yes. Yes, it does," Jason said.

The quiet then was heavy with meaning, and warmth that had nothing to do with the sun. 

Jack squirmed to get down and clung to Aaron's leg when Emily set him on his feet. "Unca Mohgan dwawinged pretty."

"Very pretty," Aaron said softly, running one hand gently over Jack's hair. He looked up at Derek then, forcing eye contact. "I only wish I could see it myself."

"Here, it's not perfect, but..." Penelope held out her camera.

Aaron glanced between Derek and the screen.

"We're all in there, written in the cliff," JJ said softly. "The whole team, and Sean, and a few other names I didn't recognize."

Breath catching, Aaron had to close his eyes, lashes damp with unshed tears. He knew then.

He didn't have to look at the photos to know that Derek had drawn the people who kept him balanced. The people who formed his bedrock. Even Elle, lost to him through his failures and her choices, fierce and free, still close, willing and able to lend aid.

And Jack, his image more hinted at than not, dawning on a new day.


End file.
